I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, living in the US.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody 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, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I required further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.