I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.