I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed additional years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.