I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Reality

During 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find clarity.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported masculine attire, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My spouse moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.