I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.