I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem 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 presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.