I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the acclaimed David Bowie display launched at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. By 2013, I found myself in my early 40s, a recently separated mother of four, residing in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and attraction preferences, searching for understanding.

Born in England during the beginning of the seventies - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had questions about sex; instead, we sought guidance from pop stars, and throughout the eighties, everyone was playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I wanted his slender frame and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an powerful draw returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, anticipating that maybe he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the music video for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while to the side three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing gathered around a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to be over. At the moment when I understood I connected with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to remove everything and emulate the artist. I craved his narrow hips and his defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. Nevertheless I was unable to, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a much more frightening outlook.

I needed additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I abandoned beauty products and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I halted before hormonal treatment - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

After the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the problem wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, dancing in the spotlight, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I continue to possess many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I wanted the freedom to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.