I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years before the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was searching for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, discover a clue to my true nature.

I soon found myself facing a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I desired his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. However I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning male attire.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.