I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.