I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed further time before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.