I never thought I was remotely attracted to women before I split from my husband Max. Or at least I’d never given myself the freedom to realise what it was I really felt.

Last week, model and TV personality Christine McGuinness talked candidly about her new life as a ‘five-star lesbian’ after splitting from husband Paddy McGuinness, the TV presenter.

On a podcast, she spoke of the fun she was having dating women and how one day she’d like a wife. Reading it, I felt a jolt of deep recognition, and joy for her.

Like her, I wasn’t a natural rebel. At uni, it was fairly common for girls to kiss one another when they were drunk in the student bar, but I never did. I thought they were just doing it for male approval.

In my youth I had crushes on Damon Albarn from Blur and Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker (I’m 51 and loved the whole Britpop scene) and when I met Max, he was a drummer in a local band in Bristol. Oddly perhaps, I was attracted to him because he was quite macho and very sure of himself. His father was a well-known sound director in the film industry, and Max wanted to follow in his footsteps.

After two years of living together in a small flat in Brixton, south London, we got married, and I was soon pregnant.

My dream of becoming a TV producer receded into the distance. At home all day with our daughter Fearne, I became restless and began to question my life choices.

I didn’t feel fulfilled emotionally or sexually and perhaps if I’d looked harder at myself then – if I’d been less exhausted and not such a conformist – I might have realised what my gut was trying to tell me…

As it was, our married sex life was boring. Max and I got on as friends, but there was no chemistry. Any intimate moments were largely for his benefit and over quickly. By the time Fearne was in primary school – and we’d moved to a larger place in Battersea – we were having sex no more than two or three times a year.

When I reflect on why we stopped, well, Max was either stressed with work, or travelling for work, and we just weren’t connected as a couple.

Meanwhile I trained to be a teacher and then taught art in a primary school. We didn’t discuss having any more children, and for years that was how it was: we bumbled along together, becoming more and more invisible to each other.

Two years ago, after Fearne went to uni, Max announced that he wanted a divorce. We’d been married for 25 years but I instantly felt it was the right decision and was surprisingly unmoved by our split. It had been coming for a long time.

Still, there I was, almost 50 and suddenly free. I started going to the gym and lifting weights. I went on a couple of all-women retreats to recharge my batteries. I found I had no desire to start dating men.

Indeed, the only rush of blood occurred one day at the sauna, when I started talking to an attractive woman sitting opposite me. I noticed that I felt nervous in her presence, and that afterwards I went back over our conversation repeatedly.

I bumped into her again and then I started to feel disappointed if she wasn’t there. There was nothing remotely flirtatious about these chats: we talked about HRT and what exercise classes we were doing. She was from Brazil and had two kids. But I also felt something different – an unfamiliar energy.

Then it all changed. We went for a coffee after the sauna and she told me she was gay and had split from her wife. I don’t think she was making a pass at me – she was far too attractive – but then I started thinking about her all the time. When I was listening to music or preparing dinner or walking to the shops.

I thought about the two of us together in bed and it became like an obsession.

These were the same feelings I’d had at university when I got crushes on men but, if anything, more powerful.

And yet I felt deeply confused. Where had all this come from? Could it really be me? It felt so strange after a life lived as a wife to a man.

There was only one person I could talk to about it – my ultra open-minded friend Laura.

‘It sounds like you’re not straight any more,’ she said. ‘Maybe you never were. The good news is that now you can finally explore your options.’

The ‘options’ seemed to be dating apps. I plucked up the courage and matched with a younger woman in her late 30s. There was no chemistry between us on our date, but we became friends and she took me to a lesbian club in Soho. Aged 50, I wasn’t the oldest woman there, which amazed me. ‘You’ll find quite a few women who discover they’re gay later on in life,’ she explained.

I still had no idea if this was me or ‘just a phase’ – but after a couple of unsuccessful dates with other women, I met Francine via this same friend.

She was tall and I felt safe around her. She had more of a ‘butch’ energy, which I found both fascinating and intimidating. We drank a lot on that first date in a bar, and I ended up going home with her.

It was as if I was inhabiting someone else’s life!

She had lived in a house share, which felt odd to me – ever the conventional one – since she was in her late 40s.

I felt very paranoid about my body that first time – I’m a size 16 and have big boobs and large thighs. When we got to her house, I tried to delay getting into bed, and suggested we watch TV instead, but I was drunk, and Francine told me to lie down.

That first night we kissed a lot, and then fell asleep, and I was more aroused than I’d ever been with Max.

The second time we met, she came to my house. I got my own place after the divorce, and Fearne lives with me, having finished uni.

She knows I’m dating women now – that was a long, difficult conversation – and says she’s happy so long as I am. That night, Fearne was out, and Francine and I went to bed.

Frankly, it felt amazing to have a woman who knew what she was doing. I’d been faking orgasms for so long with Max, I’d forgotten what it was like not to. It’s early days with Francine – and I’ve had to drink half a bottle of wine on each of the half-dozen occasions we’ve gone home together – but I honestly feel this is who I am.

It’s not all physical: sometimes you just want to feel close to another person and actually it’s what I enjoy most about my relationship with Francine. Emotionally she’s there for me too.

Where Max would tease me about my size and tell me to ‘lay off the crisps’, Francine tells me my body is beautiful. She makes me feel special and every day I feel my confidence growing.

‘You’re glowing,’ my friend Laura said to me when we recently met up. ‘You’ve changed completely.’

I’m not sure if Francine and I will settle down, but I will be grateful to her for ever. She’s made this transition so easy and natural. There’s no shame and I just wish I’d discovered it sooner.

I’m not sure how Max feels about it. I imagine it’s quite a gut-punch to find out your wife has become a lesbian, but he has a new partner himself now, and that part of my life is long over.

If I tell you I don’t really care how he feels, well, that’s a sign of the ‘new me’ too.

Like Christine, there will be no looking back. My invisible, traditional, home-making days are well and truly over.

Edie Platts is a pseudonym. All names and identifying details have been changed