I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Reality

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Up to that point, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had entered matrimony with. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and sexual orientation, seeking out clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I lacked access to Reddit or digital content to reference when we had questions about sex; conversely, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer embraced feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I craved his narrow hips and precise cut, his strong features and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the gallery, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was facing a modest display where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these characters didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify 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.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, after half a decade, I returned. 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 wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume throughout his existence. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about materialized.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.