I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

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 lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore boys' clothes, Boy George adopted girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

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

I was uncertain precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I can.