I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.