I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.