I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, 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.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.