I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

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

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.