I Thought I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, 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, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.