I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom 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 personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.