I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I were without social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I craved his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. At the moment 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 revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag 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 was able to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.