I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

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

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.