I Believed That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying 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 additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.