I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.