That woman, raised myself and my ten mixed-race siblings singlehandedly in Liverpool.
My sisters, those women, looked after me often when our mum went off to work.
My favourite nursery teacher was a white woman in a predominantly black and brown school.
My primary school head was a white woman, whom I’m still in contact with today.
My favourite secondary school teacher was a white woman in a predominantly white school.
When I was in the cadets, the chief who nurtured my young career was a beautiful white woman.
At college, I hung around with women of all colours.
At university, I was popular with women of all colours even after coming out.
An all white panel of women interviewed me to join the police.
When I became unwell with depression it was a white nurse who recognised this, that woman.
My doctor was a white woman, who helped and supported me.
My first counsellor to talk about the difficulties of being a black gay man was a black woman.
The relationship counsellor I had to help my partner and I with our difficulties was a white woman.
When I was down on my luck, it was my Asian American friend who gave me hope, that woman.
Some of my closest friends are women and had loved me when I didn’t even love myself.
My lawyer was an Asian woman, who helped me to fight discrimination and for my rights.
My Member of Parliament who supported me every step of my fight was a white women.
My councillor who motivated me to do the right thing when I felt unmotivated was a black woman.
It was a white woman publisher who gave me the opportunity to start a new career as an author.
My literary agent is a woman of colour and such a beautiful person like my book editor.
Women on social media who don’t even know me have shown me much love over the years.
A woman gave me life and women have been such a big part of making me the man I am today.
Women have consistently seen something in me when I didn’t see it myself.
This tribute is to all those women who have inspired me and continue to be a source of inspiration.