I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home 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.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

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

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.