I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Discover the Truth

During 2011, a few years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display opened at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. After a couple of years, I found myself in my early 40s, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, residing in the America.

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

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; rather, we looked to pop stars, and throughout the eighties, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his strong features and male chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

In that decade, I spent my time riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I chose to get married. My husband transferred our home to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Given that no one experimented with identity to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to use some leisure time during a seasonal visit back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could guide my understanding.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the exhibition - maybe I thought that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, discover a insight into my personal self.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the primary position, looking stylish in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three accompanying performers wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Unlike the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as awkward as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to conclude. Precisely when I realized I was identifying with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, Bowie's German period. However I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as queer was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

I required additional years before I was prepared. During that period, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and threw away all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

When the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in the American metropolis, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I was able to.

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

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