I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.