I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Enabled Me to Realize the Reality

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the acclaimed David Bowie show debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I came out as a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, with one partner I had married. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a freshly divorced caregiver to four kids, making my home in the United States.

During this period, I had started questioning both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, seeking out answers.

I entered the world in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. During our youth, my companions and myself didn't have social platforms or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; rather, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer wore boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer embraced girls' clothes, and musical acts such as popular ensembles featured members who were publicly out.

I wanted his slender frame and defined hairstyle, his angular jaw and flat chest. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time driving a bike and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to femininity when I chose to get married. My spouse transferred our home to the US in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an powerful draw revisiting the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to devote an open day during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that maybe he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I walked into the display - possibly I anticipated that by losing myself in the opulence of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, consequently, encounter a hint about my personal self.

Quickly I discovered myself standing in front of a small television screen where the film clip for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the entertainers I had witnessed firsthand, these ladies failed to move around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked unenthused and frustrated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and expressed annoyance at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of empathy for the supporting artists, with their pronounced make-up, ill-fitting wigs and constricting garments.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were yearning for it all to be over. Precisely when I understood I connected with three individuals presenting as female, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and unveiled herself as ... Bowie! Revelation. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his lean physique and his sharp haircut, his angular jaw and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the slender-shaped, Bowie's German period. And yet I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as homosexual was one thing, but personal transformation was a considerably more daunting prospect.

I needed several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and began donning men's clothes.

I changed my seating posture, modified my gait, and modified my personal references, but I paused at surgical procedures - the potential for denial and second thoughts had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition concluded its international run with a stint in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I was unable to continue acting to be an identity that didn't fit.

Positioned before the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been wearing drag since birth. I wanted to transform myself into the individual in the stylish outfit, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I scheduled an appointment to see a physician not long after. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I feared materialized.

I still have many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to play with gender following Bowie's example - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I can.