I Believed I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, making my home in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and attraction preferences, looking to find understanding.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself lacked access to social platforms or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were publicly out.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I spent my time operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was searching for when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. 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 revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his strong features and his masculine torso; I sought to become the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

I needed several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint 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.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.