I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie show launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.