I Was Convinced That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Helped Me Uncover the Actual Situation

In 2011, a few years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie display launched at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, one of whom I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single caregiver to four kids, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - pre-world wide web. When we were young, my friends and I didn't have online forums or YouTube to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; instead, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured artists who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his strong features and flat chest. I sought to become the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to femininity when I decided to wed. My husband relocated us to the America in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender to the extent of David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the V&A, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity specifically what I was looking for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my true nature.

Before long I was positioned before a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking stylish in a slate-colored ensemble, while to the side three backing singers wearing women's clothing clustered near a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters weren't sashaying around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I knew for certain that I desired to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the lean-figured, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a separate matter, but transitioning was a significantly scarier possibility.

I needed several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and discarded all my skirts and dresses, shortened my locks and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional soon after. It took additional years before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I desired the liberty to explore expression following Bowie's example - and since I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.