I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.