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

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.