I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

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

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.