I Believed I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet 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 personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.