I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... 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 become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain 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 in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.