I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Music Icon Helped Me Realize the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years prior to the celebrated David Bowie show opened at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my sense of self and romantic inclinations, searching for clarity.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, The flamboyant singer adopted women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I wanted his lean physique and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived driving a bike and adopting masculine styles, but I returned to conventional female presentation when I decided to wed. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Given that no one experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey visiting Britain at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know specifically what I was seeking when I entered the exhibition - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself standing in front of a compact monitor where the music video for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the drag queens I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they chewed gum and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I was absolutely sure that I desired to shed all constraints and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

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

It took me several more years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a presentation in the American metropolis, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I can.