I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment 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 showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain 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 desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.