I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

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

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have Reddit or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; rather, we turned toward music icons, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore boys' clothes, Boy George wore women's fashion, and bands such as well-known groups featured members who were openly gay.

I craved his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull back towards the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, with the expectation that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my own identity.

Before long I was standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I became completely convinced that I wanted to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening outlook.

It took me further time before I was ready. In the meantime, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed another few years before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and since I'm at peace with myself, I can.