I Thought I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My partner transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose 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 lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

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