I Believed Myself to Be a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported masculine attire, Boy George adopted women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I sought to become the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Precisely 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. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

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 experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.