I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore masculine attire, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the entertainers I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician soon after. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.