I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the United States.

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

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.