I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, 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, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

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

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.