I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie display opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, residing in the United States.

At that time, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my peers and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to turn to when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to music icons, and in that decade, everyone was challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman embraced women's fashion, and bands such as popular ensembles featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I walked into the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, discover a insight into my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the poise of inherent stars; rather they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to be over. Just as I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his flat chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening prospect.

I required several more years before I was prepared. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display concluded its international run with a engagement in New York City, after half a decade, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor soon after. It took another few years before my personal journey finished, but none of the things I feared materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.