I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

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

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, 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 individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.