I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had once given up.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself facing a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.