I Believed That I Identified As a Gay Woman - David Bowie Enabled Me to Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years ahead of the renowned David Bowie show opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I came out as a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

My birthplace was England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and musical acts such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

During the nineties, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the V&A, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my personal self.

I soon found myself positioned before a small television screen where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was continuously looping. Bowie was moving with assurance in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of natural performers; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and constricting garments.

They appeared to feel as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning 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! Surprise. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I desired his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his masculine torso; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as queer was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening possibility.

I required further time before I was ready. During that period, I tried my hardest to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my women's clothing, shortened my locks and began donning masculine outfits.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I could.

I made arrangements to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared materialized.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I wanted the freedom to experiment with identity as Bowie had - and given that I'm comfortable in my body, I am able to.