I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

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

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.