I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

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 be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.