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

In 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.