I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

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

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I were without online forums or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I feared occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.