I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required further time before I was prepared. 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 male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.