I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity 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 manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless 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 possibility.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.