I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

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

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.