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

During 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem 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 presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.