I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.