I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, several years before the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the US.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, seeking out clarity.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. When we were young, my companions and myself were without social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, musicians were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer donned male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his slender frame and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw back towards the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I lacked clarity exactly what I was searching for when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals failed to move around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I desired to remove everything and become Bowie too. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

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

It took me further time before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and changed my name and pronouns, but I halted before surgical procedures - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display finished its world tour with a presentation in New York City, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been in costume since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor not long after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.