I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.