I joined the Royal Air Force in 1974 and served until 1985.
I loved serving in the RAF, but because of the policy at the time I was never able to be my true self. Every minute of every day I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't.
I trained as a nurse and worked alongside some wonderful people, continually developing my skills through the many courses I attended.
One of the proudest moments of my career came during the Falklands conflict. I was part of the team at Princess Alexandra's Royal Air Force Hospital, Wroughton, that cared for and managed the casualties returning from the South Atlantic. We worked tirelessly to triage, treat and transfer injured service personnel to hospitals across the UK so they could receive the specialist care they needed. I remain immensely proud of the role I played.
Outside of my nursing duties, I represented both Great Britain and the RAF in marathon and sprint canoeing, becoming Inter-Service Champion for two consecutive years.
I was proud of everything I achieved. But throughout my service, I carried a secret.
From my early teens, I knew my inner gender did not match the person everyone else saw. Today, I identify as a transgender woman. During my time in the RAF, however, I had to hide who I really was every minute of every day. Living that double life was exhausting.
I couldn't be myself around friends or colleagues. Every conversation, every decision and every day was shaped by the fear that someone might discover the truth.
The only times I could briefly express who I really was were while performing with the station drama club, where I occasionally appeared on stage presenting as female, or at the occasional fancy dress party. Those moments brought a little relief, but they could never make up for constantly hiding my true identity.
Everything changed while I was driving back to my base in Shetland after leave. I was dressed as my authentic self when I was stopped by civilian police during a routine check. After confirming my identity, they contacted the RAF Police, who in turn informed the Special Investigation Branch because I was dressed as female.
A few weeks later, an SIB officer arrived to interview me. It quickly became clear that this wasn't an interview. It was an interrogation.
He shouted at me, called me a pervert, queer and faggot, and demanded to know why I was single, why I had no regular girlfriends, why I didn't socialise with the "lads" and why I didn't have pictures of women or pornographic magazines in my locker.
He searched my personal belongings, my diary, my photographs and even my Christmas cards, demanding to know who every sender was and what relationship I had with them.
He told me that because I had been caught wearing women's clothing, my "card was marked". He said I would never progress in the RAF and that I should leave before I was arrested, court martialled and dishonourably discharged. He also warned me that a dishonourable discharge could prevent me from ever working as a nurse again.
Throughout the interrogation, I was repeatedly pressured to identify other people who might also be under investigation. I left feeling completely violated.
For a long time afterwards, I felt threatened, became withdrawn and sank into a deep depression. I stopped communicating with the people around me and struggled to trust anyone. I became convinced that my senior officers knew about the investigation and worried constantly that I was under surveillance and that another interrogation could happen at any time.
The impact on my mental health was devastating. I contemplated suicide and self-harm, but eventually found support through members of the transgender community who offered me counselling. One of the few places where I found any peace was on the water. I would paddle my canoe alone for long distances at night, finding brief moments of solitude in the darkness. It helped quieten my mind for a while, but the relief never lasted. Progress was slow and was continually interrupted by flashbacks, anxiety and paranoia.
My work also suffered because I no longer felt safe or trusted the people around me. To protect my mental health, I moved off base so that, away from work, I could at least spend some time living as my authentic self. But I knew I couldn't continue serving.
The SIB officer had made it clear that I had no future in the RAF. I genuinely believed I would eventually be arrested, disciplined and lose not only the military career I loved but also the nursing profession I had worked so hard to join.
I therefore bought myself out of the RAF. It wasn't because I wanted to leave.
I had hoped to complete eighteen or even twenty-two years' service, earn my full pension, continue developing my nursing career and remain part of an organisation I was proud to serve. Instead, I left because I believed I had no other choice.
The investigation took away far more than my military career. It took away my confidence, my sense of security and the future I had planned.
Today, I dedicate much of my time to supporting others who have experienced similar discrimination, but the impact of what happened to me during my service has never completely gone away.
Why this story matters
Today, the Ministry of Defence accepts that many LGBT veterans were investigated, intimidated, bullied and forced to leave the Armed Forces because of the ban.
However, many veterans who were forced to resign during formal disciplinary investigations are still being denied the £50,000 Dismissed or Discharged Payment. The Ministry of Defence argues that because their military records describe their departure as a resignation, rather than a dismissal or discharge, they are not entitled to the same recognition.
Steve Stewart and Mark Shephard have launched a Judicial Review in the High Court, arguing that this creates an irrational distinction between veterans who lost their careers under the very same discriminatory policy.
Because whether someone was dismissed or forced to resign during the disciplinary process, the outcome was exactly the same.
They lost the career they loved because of the ban.
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