I Thought I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie show launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or YouTube to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we sought guidance from pop stars, and during the 80s, musicians were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist wore male clothing, Boy George embraced women's fashion, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I walked into the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a modest display where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had witnessed firsthand, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I craved his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be an identity that didn't fit.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the problem 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 wearing drag all his life. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

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

I continue to possess many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.