I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

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

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.