I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Uncover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years before the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the America.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the male identity I had once given up.

Since nobody challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Precisely when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I wanted to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I required several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I continue to possess 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 following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.