I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.