I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.