I Was Convinced Myself to Be a Lesbian - The Music Icon Made Me Realize the Actual Situation

During 2011, a couple of years ahead of the celebrated David Bowie exhibition launched at the prestigious Victoria and Albert Museum in England, I declared myself a lesbian. Until that moment, I had exclusively dated men, including one I had wed. Two years later, I found myself approaching middle age, a newly single mother of four, making my home in the United States.

At that time, I had commenced examining both my gender identity and romantic inclinations, looking to find understanding.

My birthplace was England during the dawn of the seventies era - before the internet. As teenagers, my friends and I were without online forums or digital content to consult when we had questions about sex; conversely, we looked to music icons, and during the 80s, artists were experimenting with gender norms.

The iconic vocalist donned boys' clothes, Boy George adopted feminine outfits, and pop groups such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were proudly homosexual.

I desired his narrow hips and sharp haircut, his angular jaw and masculine torso. I wanted to embody the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived riding a motorbike and adopting masculine styles, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the US in 2007, but when the marriage ended I felt an powerful draw returning to the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one played with gender as dramatically as David Bowie, I chose to spend a free afternoon during a seasonal visit returning to England at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I lacked clarity precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the display - perhaps I hoped that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's identity exploration, I might, in turn, stumble across a hint about my personal self.

I soon found myself positioned before a compact monitor where the film clip for "that track" was recurring endlessly. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking stylish in a dark grey suit, while off to one side three supporting vocalists in feminine attire crowded round a microphone.

In contrast to the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these female-presenting individuals didn't glide around the stage with the poise of born divas; instead they looked disinterested and irritated. Placed in secondary positions, they were chewing and rolled their eyes at the monotony of it all.

"Boys keep swinging, boys always work it out," Bowie sang cheerfully, seemingly unaware to their diminished energy. I felt a brief sensation of understanding for the accompanying performers, with their pronounced make-up, uncomfortable wigs and too-tight dresses.

They seemed to experience as uncomfortable as I did in female clothing - annoyed and restless, as if they were hoping for it all to end. At the moment when I realized I was identifying with three male performers in feminine attire, one of them ripped off her wig, smeared the lipstick from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Surprise. (Understandably, there were two other David Bowies as well.)

In that instant, I was absolutely sure that I wanted to rip it all off and emulate the artist. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his flat chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I found myself incapable, because to truly become Bowie, first I would have to become a man.

Announcing my identity as homosexual was one thing, but transitioning was a considerably more daunting possibility.

I required additional years before I was prepared. In the meantime, I made every effort to embrace manhood: I stopped wearing makeup and eliminated all my feminine garments, cut off my hair and started wearing male attire.

I sat differently, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I stopped short of hormonal treatment - the potential for denial and regret had caused me to freeze with apprehension.

Once the David Bowie show concluded its international run with a stint in New York City, after half a decade, I went back. I had reached a breaking point. I couldn't go on pretending to be a person I wasn't.

Standing in front of the identical footage in 2018, I knew for certain that the issue wasn't about my clothing, it was my physical form. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a man with gentle characteristics who'd been wearing drag throughout his existence. I desired to change into the man in the sharp suit, performing under lights, and at that moment I understood that I had the capacity to.

I scheduled an appointment to see a doctor soon after. The process required another few years before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I worried about occurred.

I still have many of my female characteristics, so people often mistake me for a homosexual male, but I'm OK with that. I desired the liberty to explore expression as Bowie had - and given that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.