I Thought That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Legendary Artist Made Me Uncover the Reality

In 2011, a couple of years before the renowned David Bowie display debuted at the famous Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a gay woman. Previously, I had only been with men, including one I had married. Two years later, I found myself in my early 40s, a newly single caregiver to four kids, living in the America.

Throughout this phase, I had commenced examining both my sense of self and attraction preferences, seeking out clarity.

My birthplace was England during the beginning of the seventies - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without social platforms or digital content to reference when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward music icons, and during the 80s, artists were playing with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist sported boys' clothes, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and pop groups such as well-known groups featured performers who were publicly out.

I craved his lean physique and sharp haircut, his defined jawline and flat chest. I sought to become the artist's German phase

During the nineties, I passed my days operating a motorcycle and dressing like a tomboy, but I reverted back to traditional womanhood when I chose to get married. My husband relocated us to the US in 2007, but when our relationship dissolved I felt an undeniable attraction returning to the manhood I had once given up.

Considering that no artist played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a warm-weather journey returning to England at the gallery, with the expectation that maybe he could help me figure it out.

I didn't know exactly what I was looking for when I stepped inside the show - possibly I anticipated that by submerging my consciousness in the extravagance of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, discover a clue to my true nature.

Quickly I discovered myself positioned before a small television screen where the film clip for "the iconic song" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the primary position, looking polished in a slate-colored ensemble, while positioned laterally three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the drag queens I had seen personally, these ladies weren't sashaying around the stage with the confidence of inherent stars; rather they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the tedium of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie performed brightly, appearing ignorant to their diminished energy. I felt a fleeting feeling of understanding for the backing singers, with their heavy makeup, awkward hairpieces and restrictive outfits.

They appeared to feel as awkward as I did in feminine attire - annoyed and restless, as if they were longing for it all to end. Just as I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and showed herself to be ... Bowie! Revelation. (Of course, there were further David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I became completely convinced that I desired to rip it all off and become Bowie too. I craved his narrow hips and his precise cut, his strong features and his male chest; I sought to become the slim-silhouetted, artist's Berlin phase. However I was unable to, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Coming out as gay was one thing, but personal transformation was a much more frightening prospect.

It took me several more years before I was willing. Meanwhile, I did my best to become more masculine: I stopped wearing makeup and discarded all my skirts and dresses, cut off my hair and began donning men's clothes.

I sat differently, walked differently, and modified my personal references, but I halted before surgical procedures - the possibility of rejection and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie exhibition completed its global journey with a engagement in Brooklyn, New York, five years later, I returned. I had reached a breaking point. I was unable to continue acting to be something I was not.

Standing in front of the same video in 2018, I became completely convinced that the challenge wasn't my clothes, it was my physical form. I didn't identify as a butch female; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been in costume since birth. I desired to change into the individual in the stylish outfit, moving in the illumination, and then I comprehended that I had the capacity to.

I made arrangements to see a doctor shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but none of the fears I anticipated materialized.

I still have many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I wanted the freedom to play with gender like Bowie did - and since I'm comfortable in my body, I have that capacity.