Posh restaurant worries

Each time they went she felt a little less uneasy about being served en femme. Plain old you-belong encouragement was nice, but it didn't cover big gaps.

Or squash excuses to worry. "They only tolerate us/acknowledge my femininity because we tip well." "They sort of have to. It'd be bad publicity to throw us out."

But of course the waitstaff had given warning to a neighboring table who'd, well, heckled. They always mentioned it was lovely to see her new suits. Trust was still hard--it felt almost too good to be true.

All she could say to the staff was, thanks for letting me be myself here. She didn't know if they knew her worries. But whenever she took stock and looked back, there were less of them. And of course she'd gone through the same worries with her partner.

It needed to be said. It sometimes felt forced when it did. But it always helped a bit to learn to balance "dressing is an important part of me that helps with everyday stuff" with "I do so much more than just dress."