I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie show opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the US.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported boys' clothes, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, consequently, stumble across a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening prospect.

I needed several more years before I was ready. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I maintain many of my female characteristics, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.