I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition 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 medical professional soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.