I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, living in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, 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 narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as queer was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue 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 all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.