I Was Convinced I Was a Gay Woman - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit returning to England at the V&A, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. 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 knew for certain that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.