I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his strong features and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My spouse relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.