I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a few years prior to the celebrated David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had married. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, searching for clarity.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my peers and I didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were openly gay.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and male chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity to the extent of 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 possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a modest display where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them tore off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I desired to remove everything and emulate the artist. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. However I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed additional years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the familiar clip in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a medical professional not long after. I needed further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.