I Thought That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Helped Me Realize the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I were without online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My spouse moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - 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 Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, 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 all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.