I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

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

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge 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 in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.