I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single parent to four children, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I entered the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics 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 had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.