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

In 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to end. Just as I understood I connected 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 two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.