I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years prior to the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had only been with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have Reddit or video sharing sites to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, Boy George embraced feminine outfits, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three accompanying performers dressed in drag clustered near a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their pronounced make-up, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I knew for certain that I wanted to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. Nevertheless I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I required several more years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, five years later, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially 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 could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I sought the ability to play with gender following Bowie's example - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.