I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed further time before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.