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

In 2011, a couple of years before the acclaimed David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single mother of four, residing in the US.

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

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

Annie Lennox wore male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore feminine outfits, and bands such as popular ensembles featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I aimed to personify the artist's German phase

In that decade, I passed my days driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I opted for marriage. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw back towards the male identity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I was uncertain precisely what I was looking for when I entered the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my own identity.

I soon found myself facing a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "Boys Keep Swinging" was continuously looping. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these characters failed to move around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; conversely they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - frustrated and eager, as if they were hoping for it all to end. 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 revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his lean physique and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but transitioning was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and commenced using masculine outfits.

I sat differently, walked differently, and changed my name and pronouns, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I revisited. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my body. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took additional years before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I worried about 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 wanted the freedom to experiment with identity following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.