I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie display opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a gay woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was looking for when I entered the show - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

It took me further time before I was willing. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.