I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I were without social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional soon after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.