I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself were without online forums or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel 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 understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

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

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.