I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Uncover the Truth

In 2011, several years before the acclaimed David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a summer trip visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was looking for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, 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 strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I needed further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in Brooklyn, New York, 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.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. The process required additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.