I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.