I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the United States.

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

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.