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Gender identity is a funny thing. Growing up, I did not want to be a woman. I did not like the way my father treated my mother; I hated cooking and staying at home. I would rather go out, see the world, find out what was going on, stay out late, travel by myself at night, enjoying the emptiness of the big city. All things that women were not encouraged to do. I did not want to be a woman.

My mother, on the other hand, was always trying to get me to dress like one. Dresses with flowers, delicate jewellery; she was constantly buying me presents. I preferred jeans and tees. I was good at sports, great at mathematics and started working early as a writer and journalist.

As I followed my heart and found my place in the world, I discovered men. I never took to being delicate in my attire but dressing up to attract men was a new thing in my life. And quite pleasurable. The thrill of having a man pay attention to you, the sparks created by a mere touch of the hand, these were delicious things not to be missed out on. I enjoyed sex and found great pleasure in my body. But I was clear about one thing. I did not want children. There were too many in the world and I could contribute by adopting them. And then I got married.

By this time I was also in my late 20s. Before I knew it, my body was undergoing changes that I could not understand. I started looking at families and children. Unbeknownst to me, I started wanting my own. At home, I also started craving more stability.

My husband was not happy. And during one big fight, he said: You’re just like a woman.

Wait a second. I am a woman. I was shocked. Didn’t he know that when he married me? That’s when I realised that I had to take stock of what it meant for me being a woman. I looked back at the years of denying myself as a woman. Or wanting to be a man. Had I been so averse to the idea that even my husband was not sure I was a woman?

I had to make changes and quickly. I asked single female friends of mine who were in their 40s about their experiences. They all said their bodies had screamed children in their 30s, but it had been a passing phase.

I started by accepting my body for what it is. Accepting PMS. Accepting my need for a home that was safe for my children. I also accepted that I had taken time to understand and accept this, and this would probably affect my relationship. And it did. The divorce came through quickly, and I was no better off in my efforts to have a family. But at least I had opened up the possibility of wanting one and creating the path to find someone who would be similarly inclined.

I still refuse to be coy and do not want to be treated as the lesser in a relationship. I still believe in making money and being independent, and keeping the name my parents gave me rather than taking on my husband’s. But I enjoy having nights out with women. I enjoy talking of relationships, bringing up children, about communication in the workplace. And I ensure we also discuss politics and science. After all, there’s no rule that says that women have to be passive and cooperative. That’s just a stereotype. We have to discover for ourselves what we are. And that’s the fun of it, in retrospect.