I Believed Myself to Be a Lesbian - David Bowie Helped Me Uncover the Truth

Back in 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Up to that point, I had only been with men, with one partner I had married. By 2013, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced mother of four, residing in the United States.

Throughout this phase, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find clarity.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we looked to celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, musicians were challenging gender norms.

Annie Lennox sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore women's fashion, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I craved his slender frame and precise cut, his defined jawline and male chest. I aimed to personify the Bowie's Berlin period

Throughout the 90s, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and wearing androgynous clothing, 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 powerful draw revisiting the masculinity I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms quite like David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could help me figure it out.

I was uncertain exactly what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's norm-challenging expression, I might, in turn, discover a insight into my own identity.

Quickly I discovered myself facing a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Positioned as supporting acts, they had gum in their mouths and rolled their eyes 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 fleeting feeling of connection for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as ill-at-ease as I did in female clothing - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to conclude. Precisely when I recognized my alignment with three men dressed in drag, one of them removed her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Naturally, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and transform like Bowie. I desired his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his masculine torso; I aimed to personify the slim-silhouetted, Bowie's German period. And yet I couldn't, because to genuinely embody Bowie, first I would need to be a man.

Coming out as queer was a separate matter, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting possibility.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my women's clothing, cut off my hair and began donning masculine outfits.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had left me paralysed with fear.

Once the David Bowie display completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I returned. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I knew for certain that the challenge wasn't about my clothing, it was my biological self. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I aimed to transition into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and at that moment I understood that I was able to.

I made arrangements to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I feared came true.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer 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 have that capacity.