I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, following that period, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.