I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.