I Believed I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. 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! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I needed further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. 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 made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.