I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.