I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial 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 was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.