I Was Convinced I Was a Homosexual Woman - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my friends and I were without online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, anticipating that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I worried about came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.