I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.