I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.