I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Truth

In 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, residing in the America.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I were without Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we looked to celebrity musicians, and during the 80s, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody challenged norms to the extent of 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 possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a hint about my own identity.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "that track" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a momentary pang of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest 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 modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed additional years before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.