I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me additional years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, 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 show concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.