I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.