Real Men Don’t Cry, Real Women Don’t Cum

Gender Roles in the Bedroom, the Therapy Room, and the Mind

Let’s talk about the ancient, dusty script we’re all handed at birth — the one that insists girls should be sweet, compliant, and quiet, while boys must chase, conquer, and never, ever show feelings. These roles are so old, they often feel like the truth. But what if they’re just echoes of a past that no longer fits?

Here’s the fun part: spotting how these age-old roles sneak into everything — from orgasms to emotions — and leave us wondering why love and mood feel like a puzzle missing half the pieces. I want to take a closer look at what these roles actually give us — and take from us. Not every problem comes from gender roles, but studies show these patterns are common enough to mess with our happiness and mental health. So, let’s examine some consequences through a critical lens, just for a moment.

The Pleasure Gap: When Sex Scripts Favor Only One Star

Once the gender roles are cast, the sex scripts aren’t far behind. He’s the lead, she’s the co-star — but only if she smiles sweetly, moans on cue, and knows her lines by heart. Pleasure becomes performance. And for many women, the standing ovation comes before the real climax ever does.

In sexology practice, we meet women who arrive convinced they’re broken — diagnosed by Google or a disappointed partner with a God complex. They call it “anorgasmia.” And let’s be clear: anorgasmia is real and serious. Clinically defined, it’s the persistent or recurrent delay in, or absence of, orgasm despite adequate sexual stimulation, causing significant distress (DSM-5, American Psychiatric Association). It can be lifelong or acquired, and often requires sensitive medical and psychological care.

But what I frequently see isn’t clinical anorgasmia — it’s women who’ve never been given permission to experience sex for their own pleasure. They’ve had years of male-centered sex that never invited their bodies to the conversation.

A 2020 study published in The Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy (Khoury et al., 2020) found that a significant portion of women who reported “orgasmic difficulty” actually lacked knowledge of their own bodies, had low self-prioritization during sex, or internalized the belief that sex was meant to please men. Many of these women did eventually experience orgasm after education and a shift in the sexual dynamic — highlighting the difference between dysfunction and conditioning.

Research also confirms the orgasm gap: a 2017 study in the Archives of Sexual Behavior (Frederick et al.) showed that 95% of heterosexual men usually orgasm during sex, compared to only 65% of heterosexual women. That number jumps to 86% in lesbian couples, indicating the issue isn’t biological — it’s the script. And that script has women faking it — often and convincingly.

Up to 67% of women have faked an orgasm at least once (Muehlenhard & Shippee, 2010), many citing the desire to “boost their partner’s ego,” “end sex faster,” or avoid uncomfortable conversations. They’re not broken. They’re exhausted — from being both the audience and the actress in a play they didn’t write.

Even in same-sex couples, the shadows of male-centric porn culture distort expectations. Sometimes one can see lesbian clients in sexology counselling who feel inadequate — not because they don’t want to please each other, but because “lesbian sex” is often portrayed as a glossy performance for the male gaze, not a genuine exploration of mutual desire.

This isn’t biology. This is choreography — handed down through centuries of one-sided storytelling. A performance that centers one body and silences the other. Sex isn’t a mystery — it’s just been scripted by people who never bothered to ask both actors how they feel.

When Women Are Split in Two

The Madonna–Whore complex is one of those charming relics passed down from centuries of sexual confusion, religious guilt, and rigid gender scripts. Coined by Sigmund Freud, it describes the tendency to separate women into two categories: the Madonna, pure and nurturing, deserving of love — and the Whore, sexually charged and deserving of lust (but not respect).

Sound extreme? Maybe. But it quietly sneaks into a lot of modern relationships. Especially the ones where intimacy fizzles not because of boredom or incompatibility — but because the emotional and sexual selves of a partner are seen as mutually exclusive.

This internal split — where love and lust can’t occupy the same space — isn’t a personal flaw. It’s a learned pattern, often rooted in the same gender roles that tell men to repress vulnerability and women to be either “respectable” or “available,” but never both.

“The man who loves you can’t fuck you, and the man who fucks you can’t love you.”

— Erica Jong, Fear of Flying

This Isn’t Just an Opinion — It’s a Documented Pattern

Freud first outlined the complex in 1912, but modern psychology has found echoes of it across time and cultures. A 2009 study by Zurbriggen & Yost explored how male sexual script adherence — including Madonna–Whore dynamics — led to lower relationship satisfaction and objectification of female partners. A 2010 paper by Bareket, Shnabel & Glick connected benevolent sexism (idealizing women) with suppressed sexual attraction in romantic contexts. And this is just scratching the surface.

How It Shows Up

• “I can’t get turned on by someone I love.” A person feels intense affection, trust, and emotional closeness with their partner — but their sexual desire fades. Sex is only exciting with strangers or in emotionally distant situations.
• “I respect her too much to do that with her.” Certain sexual acts (like oral sex, kink, or dominant behaviour) are reserved for “other women” — not the one they’re in a relationship with.
• “I want to be desired, but not reduced.” Women in relationships with someone experiencing this complex often feel either idolised (put on a pedestal and emotionally cared for, but sexually ignored), or objectified (treated as a sexual outlet but not emotionally connected with).
• “Our sex life disappeared when the relationship got serious.” At the beginning of the relationship — when things felt more casual — the sex was alive. But after emotional attachment deepened, desire vanished or shifted elsewhere.
• “I feel dirty asking for what I want.” Some women internalize this too — feeling like “bad partners” if they initiate sex, enjoy rough play, or ask for their needs to be met.
• You crave intense sexual experiences, but only with people you don’t respect or emotionally connect with. Love kills the thrill, and connection dulls arousal.
• You compartmentalize women into categories. The “wife material” you protect and respect, and the “other” women you lust after — and sometimes even resent.
• You feel guilty for having sexual thoughts about your long-term partner. Desire feels dirty, and your love for them feels too “pure” to stain.
• You idealize your partner so much that acknowledging their sexuality feels shameful. You flinch at the idea of them initiating, exploring, or even enjoying certain things in bed.
• You avoid emotional intimacy with people you find sexually exciting.  Getting too close makes you lose interest — because sex, for you, isn’t supposed to come with softness.
• You view female sexuality as something that belongs outside the home.  Good women aren’t supposed to want, initiate, or devour. That’s for the other kind.

And where does this split-thinking often begin? You guessed it: the ever-generous gift of gender roles. Teaching boys to worship the saint and shame the siren, to seek tenderness in one woman and thrill in another. Teaching girls to be adored — but not desired, or desired — but never respected. Gender roles blur our sense of closeness before we even learn what intimacy truly means. And so we grow into love already divided within ourselves, reaching for closeness through the distance we were taught to keep.

The polarity myth: When “Balance” Is Just Code for “Stay in Your Box”

It’s the idea that sexual desire only sparks between “masculine” and “feminine” energies — and if you both happen to be equals, well, your sex life is doomed. Too much equality? Prepare for a barren bedroom. This neat narrative boxes men and women into fixed roles like chess pieces, promising that maintaining this polarity is the secret to desire. But usually, that’s not for long.

Beware the Polarity Gurus

A new wave of “relationship experts” — and even some freshly graduated sexologists — assure us that love’s troubles all come down to a lack of femininity or masculinity. Their remedy is simple: rehearse harder. Step deeper into the roles, and harmony will follow. As if intimacy were a performance, and the right costume could make it real. Masculinity and femininity are not roles we play for each other, but energies that live within us. Telling from counselling experience – the more freely they move, the more alive our relationships become.

How Does This Myth Sneak Into Your Bedroom?

• “I was told he’ll lose interest if I take the lead.”
• “He panics if I initiate sex or express my needs.”
• “We have to bicker just to feel alive.”
• “I must be more feminine so he stays interested.”
• “If she takes the lead in bed, I feel emasculated.”
• “I was told desire dies when women stop submitting.”

So, what happens when we try to live by the “polarity must rule” gospel without pause? The weight of the performance begins to show. He carries the mask of strength until it hardens, and she polishes her softness until it disappears. Real feelings fade behind the curtain — not gone, just unseen.

Science enters the room

Research shows that emotional intimacy and shared vulnerability are what sustain love over time (Reis & Shaver, 1988). Yet these qualities rarely fit into the tidy boxes of “masculine” and “feminine.” In fact, the more partners mirror each other in values and communication, the more satisfied they tend to be in the long run (Kaufman & Urry, 2019). A 2006 study by Birnbaum and colleagues found that couples who communicate openly and treat each other with respect report higher sexual satisfaction — no matter who “leads” in bed or life. Rubin and Campbell (2012) echo this: passion grows from connection, not from power struggles disguised as chemistry. Still, the polarity evangelists insist that unless you’re performing your gender role flawlessly, your relationship is already on thin ice. Apparently, authenticity is far too modern a concept. 

The irony? This script often traps people into emotional isolation, where both gotta pretend to be less than they are. When it’s a shared fantasy, not a rigid life sentence, polarity can spice things up without turning into emotional torture. But, as Esther Perel reminds us, desire and love thrive on complexity — on the tension between closeness and distance, predictability and mystery. If your relationship looks more like a bad gender stereotype audition than a real connection, maybe it’s time to rewrite the script.

Now, to be inclusive and clear, some people find real pleasure in polarity—whether it’s in energy, expression, or sexual rhythm. And fair enough. Desire often thrives on difference, and eroticism doesn’t bloom from symmetry alone. In the short term, polarity can feel clarifying, exciting, even liberating. Some research supports this too: studies suggest that differences in sexual preferences or expressions, when consciously explored and mutually respected, can increase sexual satisfaction, particularly in couples who embrace complementarity rather than conformity (Schnarch, 2009; Gottman et al., 2015). Even in kink and queer communities, polarity is often used as an intentional tool—dom/sub roles, masc/femme dynamics, or energy contrasts become a form of play, not a life sentence.

Gender roles can offer a sense of safety — a script to follow when we fear the unknown. For a while, they make love feel simpler, more predictable. You know what to expect and who to be — and besides, you get stigmatized less for staying inside the lines. But when polarity is just repackaged patriarchy in lingerie, it doesn’t stay sexy for long. When roles become a rigid system where “feminine equals soft” and “masculine equals strong,” the house starts to crack.

But intimacy isn’t meant to live in predictability. What feels safe in the beginning can, over time, become a cage too small for who we truly are. When does it start to wither? The moment we stop meeting each other as real people.

Studies consistently show that heterosexual couples who adhere to traditional gender roles experience:

• Lower relationship satisfaction over time (Wilcox & Nock, 2006)
• Less sexual satisfaction and more orgasm gaps, especially for women (Frederick et al., 2018)
• Higher mental load and burnout for female partners (Daminger, 2019)

Meanwhile, relationships that are marked by flexible roles, shared emotional labor, and mutual vulnerability tend to report greater intimacy and stability (Markman et al., 2010; Holter, 2014).

So perhaps the answer is to hold the gender roles lightly. To treat polarity as a form of play — something that can add colour and spice but not control. When both partners are free to step into and out of these energies without fear of losing themselves, intimacy can breathe again.

So if you enjoy polarity, dance with it. Just don’t build your house on it.

When “Real Men Don’t Cry” Becomes a Death Sentence

Ah, the good old “boys don’t cry” anthem — a timeless tune passed down like a cursed family heirloom. From birth, many boys get the memo: emotions are the enemy, vulnerability is weakness, and asking for help? That’s a plot twist no man should ever face. So they learn to hide what hurts, calling it strength, and no one tells them how much it costs. Until the mental health bills start rolling in.

But here’s the dark punchline: suppressing feelings doesn’t make them disappear. It only drives them underground, where they grow in the dark — until they find their way out as anxiety, depression, or worse. As Dr. Michael Addis, a leading psychologist specializing in men’s mental health, puts it: “Rigid adherence to traditional masculine norms is associated with worse mental health outcomes, including higher levels of depression and suicidality.” (Addis, 2008)

A 2018 study in The Lancet Psychiatry found that men are significantly more likely to die by suicide than women, largely linked to societal pressures to “man up” and not seek support (Canetto & Sakinofsky, 1998; WHO, 2019). It may sound like an old cliché — until you realize this script literally kills. The World Health Organization reports that men’s life expectancy lags behind women’s globally, partly due to untreated mental health issues and risky coping strategies like substance abuse (WHO, 2019).

Emotional immaturity and poor regulation? Also offshoots of this rigid script. When boys grow up believing feelings are off-limits, they miss out on learning how to handle them healthily. Research shows that traditional masculine norms are linked to lower emotional awareness and fewer coping skills (Mahalik et al., 2003; Wong et al., 2017). The result? Struggles with closeness, miscommunication, and anger that often shows up as withdrawal or control. And then we call it personality — not pain.

But wait — there’s more. While men struggle to manage their emotions, women often become the unofficial emotional laborers in relationships, carrying the burden of calming storms and holding the emotional fort. This labor—largely invisible and undervalued—takes its toll. According to a 2017 study by psychologist Bella DePaulo and colleagues, women tend to report lower satisfaction in relationships partly because of this disproportionate emotional labor (DePaulo et al., 2017).

Interestingly, research by psychologist Dr. Tara Parker-Pope (drawing on data from the General Social Survey) shows that women report being happier living alone than men do, and men report being happier in relationships than women. This suggests men’s emotional well-being often depends heavily on their female partners, making men more vulnerable to the emotional turbulence of partnership, while women sometimes feel weighed down by this caretaking role (Parker-Pope, 2017).

So, in this twisted dance, men become emotionally dependent on women but are often ill-equipped to carry their own emotional baggage. This imbalance doesn’t just strain relationships—it’s a key contributor to what some call the “loneliness epidemic” among men, where societal expectations and emotional suppression leave them isolated even when surrounded by others (Cacioppo & Cacioppo, 2018).

So what’s the silver lining? More researchers and clinicians are finally rewriting the script. Emotional honesty is making a slow comeback, and men might just get to breathe without worrying that tears will cost them their dignity. About time, really — gender roles have had a long enough run as the emotional gatekeepers of humanity.

When the Baby Takes His Therapist

The baby arrives, and something shifts. Not just the sleepless nights or the avalanche of new routines — something deeper: he starts to disappear.

It’s not often spoken aloud — because what man wants to say, “I feel left out”? But it happens. Sometimes gradually. Sometimes all at once. He begins to feel lost, disconnected, vaguely resentful. And in families built on traditional gender roles, it almost makes sense.

When one partner has quietly carried the emotional labor — managing moods, remembering details, softening tension — it can go unnoticed until she’s suddenly consumed by keeping another human alive. Only then does it become clear: she wasn’t just holding the family together. She was holding him, too.

And when that emotional labor is rerouted to a small screaming creature, what’s left is emotional homelessness.

This isn’t just a hunch. Around one in four new fathers experience postpartum depression — a condition once thought to belong only to mothers (Paulson & Bazemore, 2010). The risk climbs when men start to feel like background characters in their own family, disconnected from their partners or unsure of their role (Singley & Edwards, 2015). And when the old rulebook still whispers “man up,” most don’t even have the language to say they’re drowning (Kilmartin, 2005).

But not all fathers experience this equally. A growing body of research suggests that men who actively participate in caregiving and emotional bonding with the baby, and who share domestic and emotional responsibilities with their partner, experience less depression, greater self-esteem, and more connection to their families (Habib, 2012; Edward et al., 2015).

On the flip side, those stuck in traditional gender roles—where nurturing is outsourced to “the woman” and masculinity is defined by stoicism and income—often face an identity crisis. One study even called it the “postpartum masculinity collapse” (Singley & Edwards, 2015).

Translation? When your emotional world is someone else’s job, you don’t know how to live in it alone. Gender roles didn’t just fail her—they failed him too.

Breaking the Spell

So here we are, tangled in the same old scripts that tell men to bottle up their feelings and women to perform pleasure on cue. Where sex becomes a checkbox for him and a mystery for her. Where “good girls” don’t get to want, and “bad girls” can never be loved—thanks. Where men’s mental health quietly crumbles behind stoic masks, while women pick up the emotional pieces like unpaid therapists. And where the great myth of polarity keeps couples circling each other, mistaking performance for passion.

These gender roles don’t just shape our stories—they script them, edit them, and often censor the parts where we might actually be happy, fulfilled, and connected. The science is clear: these aren’t timeless truths etched in stone, but socially built cages many of us desperately try to break free from. These are stories we’ve been told so many times we forget they’re just stories.

Gender roles can bring comfort, like a warm, well-worn sweater on a chilly day. They promise order and predictability in the wild mess of human connection. But comfort is just one ingredient in the recipe for intimacy. If gender roles hog the spotlight and leave little room for individuality or real emotional exchange, then the whole performance falls flat. The trick isn’t smashing the script with a hammer—it’s to rewrite it, so everyone gets a satisfying role, a voice, and the freedom to improvise.