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

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.