I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as 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 approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment 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 showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.