I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as 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 maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.