I Thought I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Realize the Truth

During 2011, a couple of years prior to the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I publicly announced a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, one of whom I had married. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, making my home in the America.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, seeking out understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - pre-world wide web. As teenagers, my friends and I didn't have social platforms or digital content to turn to when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to pop stars, and in that decade, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported male clothing, Boy George wore feminine outfits, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured members who were openly gay.

I wanted his slender frame and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to traditional womanhood when I decided to wed. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had earlier relinquished.

Since nobody experimented with identity quite like David Bowie, I decided to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey back to the UK at the museum, anticipating that possibly he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain precisely what I was searching for when I entered the show - perhaps I hoped that by immersing myself in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, as a result, stumble across a clue to my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a modest display where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a dark grey suit, while to the side three supporting vocalists dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had seen personally, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the self-assurance of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Positioned as supporting acts, they were chewing and showed impatience at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, apparently oblivious to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the accompanying performers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as uncomfortable as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Just as I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were additional David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I wanted his slender frame and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, 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 queer was a different challenge, but gender transition was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me additional years before I was prepared. Meanwhile, I tried my hardest to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, walked differently, and adopted new identifiers, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had left me paralysed with fear.

When the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, five years later, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the man in the sharp suit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I was able to.

I booked myself in to see a medical professional soon after. The process required further time before my transition was complete, but none of the things I anticipated came true.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so others regularly misinterpret me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to explore expression as Bowie had - and now that I'm at peace with myself, I am able to.