I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed further time before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.