I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.