I Believed Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I still have 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 explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.