I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.