I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

Born in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the monotony 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 connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed several more years before I was willing. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.