I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Discover the Truth

Back in 2011, a few years before the renowned David Bowie exhibition debuted at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in London, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had wed. Two years later, I found myself nearing forty-five, a freshly divorced parent to four children, living in the US.

During this period, I had started questioning both my sense of self and sexual orientation, seeking out understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my companions and myself were without Reddit or digital content to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and in that decade, artists were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox donned masculine attire, The flamboyant singer embraced women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured artists who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his lean physique and precise cut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

In that decade, I passed my days riding a motorbike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I returned to femininity when I chose to get married. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an irresistible pull back towards the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Since nobody played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a summer trip returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know precisely what I was searching for when I walked into the show - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the visual presentation for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was strutting his stuff in the front, looking polished in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the entertainers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals weren't sashaying around the stage with the poise of born divas; conversely they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they chewed gum and expressed annoyance at the boredom of it all.

"The song's lyrics, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their reduced excitement. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to conclude. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I wanted his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. Nevertheless I found myself incapable, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was a different challenge, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting outlook.

I needed several more years before I was willing. In the meantime, I did my best to adopt male characteristics: I stopped wearing makeup and threw away all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I halted before medical intervention - the possibility of rejection and second thoughts had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

When the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a stint in New York City, five years later, I went back. I had experienced a turning point. I found it impossible to maintain the facade to be a person I wasn't.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I became completely convinced that the issue didn't involve my attire, it was my body. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag all his life. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. It took further time before my transformation concluded, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a gay man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to experiment with identity like Bowie did - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.