I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, living in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.