I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the America.

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

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.