I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

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

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.