I Thought I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Made Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated parent to four children, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I were without social platforms or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were publicly out.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Declaring myself as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting outlook.

It took me several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. 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.