I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.