I Was Convinced I Was a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Discover the Truth

In 2011, several years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie show launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I publicly announced a lesbian. Previously, I had solely pursued relationships with men, with one partner I had entered matrimony with. By 2013, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated caregiver to four kids, living in the United States.

At that time, I had started questioning both my gender identity and attraction preferences, searching for answers.

I entered the world in England during the beginning of the seventies - before the internet. As teenagers, my companions and myself lacked access to online forums or YouTube to turn to when we had questions about sex; conversely, we turned toward celebrity musicians, and throughout the eighties, everyone was experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The flamboyant singer wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured members who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his lean physique and precise cut, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the artist's German phase

Throughout the 90s, I spent my time riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I went back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My husband moved our family to the United States in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an irresistible pull returning to the manhood I had previously abandoned.

Considering that no artist challenged norms as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip returning to England at the gallery, hoping that perhaps he could provide clarity.

I didn't know specifically what I was searching for when I entered the display - perhaps I hoped that by losing myself in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, as a result, encounter a clue to my personal self.

Before long I was facing a small television screen where the music video for "Boys Keep Swinging" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was performing confidently in the foreground, looking sharp in a charcoal outfit, while positioned laterally three backing singers dressed in drag gathered around a microphone.

Unlike the performers I had encountered in real life, these ladies didn't glide around the stage with the confidence of natural performers; rather they looked unenthused and frustrated. Relegated to the background, they chewed gum and rolled their eyes at the boredom of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, seemingly unaware to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a brief sensation of connection for the supporting artists, with their thick cosmetics, awkward hairpieces and too-tight dresses.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in women's clothes - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to be over. At the moment when I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, wiped the makeup from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Of course, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I became completely convinced that I aimed to remove everything and transform like Bowie. I craved his slender frame and his defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and his male chest; I aimed to personify the slender-shaped, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as gay was one thing, but gender transition was a significantly scarier prospect.

I required additional years before I was ready. Meanwhile, I made every effort to become more masculine: I abandoned beauty products and discarded all my feminine garments, trimmed my tresses and started wearing men's clothes.

I altered how I sat, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the potential for denial and remorse had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

After the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, following that period, I revisited. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the familiar clip in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I wasn't a masculine woman; I was a male with feminine qualities who'd been presenting artificially throughout his existence. I wanted to transform myself into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a physician soon after. I needed additional years before my transition was complete, but none of the fears I worried about occurred.

I continue to possess many of my feminine mannerisms, so people often mistake me for a queer man, but I'm OK with that. I sought the ability to play with gender like Bowie did - and given that I'm at peace with myself, I can.