In this space, I can’t see myself reflected anywhere. Nothing is mine, nothing reverberates. I feel restricted. I feel suffocated. I’m here for a reason not of my own design or of my own intent. I’m a guest in this space. Disturb nothing! My actions are softened, my will is filtered. I’m not me here, I’m her: a bird beating itself against the cage, and she has to be this way so they can be themself. But I want to be myself. Why does it cost so much? I try to find and maintain some sense of myself but…

Angelou, Maya. I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. Random House, 2009