I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Made Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and defined hairstyle, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was searching for when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the confidence of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I can.