I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Homosexual Woman - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and bands such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; 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 voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier outlook.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I made every effort to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure 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 presenting artificially throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I can.