I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Actual Situation

Back in 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition opened at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the United States.

During this period, I had begun to doubt both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the early 1970s - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself didn't have online forums or video sharing sites to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we sought guidance from celebrity musicians, and in that decade, everyone was playing with gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, Boy George wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as popular ensembles featured members who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and male chest. I sought to become the Bowie's Berlin period

In that decade, I lived operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the male identity I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, anticipating that perhaps he could guide my understanding.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "that track" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; conversely they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, ill-fitting wigs and too-tight dresses.

They appeared to feel as uncomfortable as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Naturally, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

Right then, I knew for certain that I aimed to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his lean physique and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as gay was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a significantly scarier prospect.

It took me further time before I was prepared. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my skirts and dresses, trimmed my tresses and commenced using male attire.

I changed my seating posture, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a presentation in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Facing the same video 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 man with gentle characteristics who'd been presenting artificially all his life. I aimed to transition into the person in the polished attire, moving in the illumination, and now I realized that I was able to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a medical professional not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a gay man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm content with my physical form, I have that capacity.