I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.