I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.