I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the America.

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

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely 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 two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.