She must be magnificent in every way. She must have a perfect smile; perfect teeth; amazing hair; chiselled dimples; an eye colour sprinkled with a hue of rainbow; cheeks that bloom a beautiful rose so all the birds outside twitter their delight.

She must never make a mistake; no: mistakes are not for little girls or young women. She must sit up straight in her bow-shaped chair, strands of hair wrenched into neat plaits; face scrubbed raw of playful dirt, mouth shut in a tight line so she does not voice her disapproval.

She must not look at you the wrong way; for if she does, you might not think she likes you. If you do not like her, you will descend on her like a crescendo of vultures, and you will tear her apart as though she is not human. She will be stigmatised, labelled, stained with the red stamp of ‘difficult’; forever.

She must not have strong opinions; or even an opinion that differs from yours. She must agree with everything you say; for you are always right, and she must learn from your didactic words. If she shows even the slightest tremble of the lip, she will be scrutinised, criticised, privately categorised as that terrible term – the ‘imperfect woman’.

She must not bear her muscled legs as she swings her tennis racket; no, she must leap into the air like a swan, curving her body in motion as she swings for victory. She must be humble in victory, or she will be arrogant, undeserving, a champion who leaves the bitter taste of a sour green sweet in your mouth.

She must blink her large, doe-shaped eyes, and drink in everything you say; until the dark blue sky darkens to sunset, and the stars gaze out of the horizon; a silent watcher filming her every move with its sparkly vision, confirming she does not fall short of perfection.

She must not fail your perfect expectations, because if she does, she is no longer valuable. She is a failure; weak, stupid, lazy, and there is no hope for her in the grey-tinged white clouds that rise in the morning light.

She is a robot, and until she is perfect, we will programme her actions; her every step, her words, her facial expressions; her relationships.

Well, I am a young woman, and I am not perfect.

And I will no longer be silenced under the weight of my shame.