I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp 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 seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required further time before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

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

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

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 explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.