I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.