I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find answers.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; instead 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 voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me further time before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. It took additional years before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I anticipated materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.