I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I required further time before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem 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 wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.