I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, living in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me additional years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.