I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, living in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without online forums or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.