I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. 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 conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

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

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.