I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.