I Thought Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.