I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without social platforms or digital content to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.