I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay 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 recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

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

I required further time before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.