I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

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

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected 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! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I required additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge 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 presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.