I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.