I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when 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 showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.