I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have online forums or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

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

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when 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! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.