I Thought I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting 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 end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. 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. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.