I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.