I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Reality

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could provide clarity.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my personal self.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me several more years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed another few years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears 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 experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.