I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced mother of four, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a seasonal visit visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

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

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as 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 showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I required further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I returned. 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 same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.