I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance 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 brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning 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, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.