I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.