When I was younger, I voiced my opinions freely and without much thought. That was until my grandmother said to me sternly, “Little girls should be seen and not heard,” in a tone that struck a chord. I absorbed the chill of her kitchen’s marble floors and the iciness of the stainless steel fixtures. Her stark white cabinets in her pristine kitchen stood tall, concealing their contents like secrets. It was clear she wanted me to do the same, so I did.