I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

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

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

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

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

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.