I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain 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 since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.