I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, several years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Up to that point, I had only been with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, residing in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Since nobody experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as awkward as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I wanted his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I required several more years before I was willing. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the potential for denial and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional shortly afterwards. It took another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.