I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites 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 iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed 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 chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.