I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

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

During the nineties, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I stepped inside the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.