I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced 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 throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.