I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.