I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable 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 understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, 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 individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.