I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Discover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a few years ahead of the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, making my home in the America.

During this period, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and sexual orientation, looking to find answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or YouTube to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; instead, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My partner relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an irresistible pull returning to the masculinity I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, encounter a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three accompanying performers in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; instead they looked bored and annoyed. 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 lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, 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 end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I couldn't, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Coming out as gay was a different challenge, but gender transition was a significantly scarier possibility.

I required several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and changed my name and pronouns, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had left me paralysed with fear.

After the David Bowie show finished its world tour with a stint in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the same video in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician not long after. The process required further time before my transformation concluded, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression like Bowie did - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I can.