I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, living in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

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 experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.