I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.