I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the United States.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. 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 female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.