I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender quite like David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit returning to England at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, encounter a insight into my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.