I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces 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 be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.