I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. It took further time before my transition was complete, 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 queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.