I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to online forums or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were openly gay.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a presentation 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 identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.