I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

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

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was seeking when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter 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 polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure 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 presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.