I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium 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 fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying 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! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.