I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

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

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.