I Thought Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.