I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become 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.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears 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 wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.