I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years before the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I lacked access to online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.