I Thought Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Discover the Reality

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I came out as a gay woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a newly single parent to four children, making my home in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my personal gender and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. During our youth, my peers and I lacked access to social platforms or YouTube to consult when we had inquiries regarding sexuality; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, artists were challenging gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned masculine attire, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I wanted his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I lived riding a motorbike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist experimented with identity as dramatically as David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain specifically what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

Before long I was positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists wearing women's clothing crowded round a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the tedium of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a momentary pang of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, ill-fitting wigs and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in female clothing - frustrated and eager, as if they were longing for it all to end. At the moment when I understood I connected with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Naturally, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to shed all constraints and transform like Bowie. I wanted his slender frame and his precise cut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slim-silhouetted, Berlin-era Bowie. And yet I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as homosexual was a separate matter, but gender transition was a much more frightening possibility.

I needed several more years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my women's clothing, trimmed my tresses and started wearing male attire.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie show completed its global journey with a presentation in the American metropolis, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I was unable to continue acting to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the problem didn't involve my attire, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, dancing in the spotlight, and then I comprehended that I could.

I booked myself in to see a doctor shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transition was complete, but not a single concern I worried about came true.

I maintain many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm comfortable with that outcome. I sought the ability to explore expression following Bowie's example - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I have that capacity.