I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

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

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.