I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. 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.