I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.