I Believed I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

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

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.