I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I were without social platforms or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing 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, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.