I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.