Pauliina FlamGender 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?
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, I 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. I’ve worked with lesbian clients 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 behavior) 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 idolized (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.
“I crave intense sexual experiences, but only with people you don’t respect or emotionally connect with.”
Love kills the thrill, and connection dulls arousal.
“I compartmentalize women into categories“
It is either the “wife material” you protect and respect, and the “other” women you lust after — and sometimes even resent.
“I feel guilty for having sexual thoughts about your long-term partner“
Desire feels dirty, and your love for them feels too “pure” to stain.
“I 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.
“I 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.
“I 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. Thanks again, gender roles. Always making sure our inner worlds stay confused enough to keep intimacy just out of reach.
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
There’s a growing legion of self-proclaimed “relationship experts” and yes, even some fresh-faced sexologists, who swear that couples’ problems boil down to “not being feminine or masculine enough.” Their prescription? Double down on rigid gender roles and, voilà, love problems solved! Because nothing says intimacy like turning your relationship into a Broadway show starring “The Man” and “The Woman.” Real life? Not so much.
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 24/7? Spoiler: it gets exhausting real fast. Imagine spending years stuck in a role you never auditioned for — he’s gotta be the unshakable rock, and she’s stuck polishing her “feminine mystique”. Meanwhile, real feelings get shoved in a closet labeled “Not part of the script.”
Science enters the room
Research shows that emotional intimacy and shared vulnerability are the secret sauce for lasting relationships (Reis & Shaver, 1988). But guess what? That doesn’t exactly fit into neat little “masculine” or “feminine” boxes. In fact, the more partners mirror each other in values and communication styles, the better their long-term satisfaction (Kaufman & Urry, 2019). A 2006 study by Birnbaum et al. found that couples with open communication, mutual respect, and emotional intimacy reported higher sexual satisfaction — regardless of who “leads” in bed or life. Rubin and Campbell (2012) echo this: passion thrives on connection, not power struggles dressed up as chemistry. Yet, those polarity cheerleaders keep selling the idea that if you’re not constantly playing your gender part perfectly, your relationship is doomed. “You’re just not masculine enough!” or “Where’s your feminine energy?” Cue dramatic eye-roll.
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.
But when polarity is just repackaged patriarchy in lingerie, it doesn’t stay sexy for long.
Studies show that when roles are a rigid system where “feminine equals soft” and “masculine equals strong”—the house starts to crack.
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 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. Instead, men are handed a stiff upper lip and a toolkit full of emotional duct tape.
But here’s the dark punchline: suppressing feelings doesn’t make them disappear. It just lets them fester like an unwanted guest at a party, turning into 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). And before you roll your eyes thinking this is just whining — 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. The result: difficulties in relationships, poor communication, and sometimes, a truckload of bottled-up rage disguised as “just how he is.”.
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 calling for a rewrite of this outdated manual. Encouraging emotional expression, normalizing vulnerability, and dismantling toxic masculinity can help men breathe again — without the fear that tears will come with a side of ridicule. Thank you, gender roles, once again — for making human emotions the forbidden fruit for half the population.
When the Baby Takes His Therapist
The baby arrives, and something strange happens. Not just the late-night feeds, not just the shredded sleep or the existential panic over diaper brands. No, something deeper: he starts to disappear.
It’s not always talked about—because what man wants to say “I feel… left out”? But it happens. Sometimes subtly. Sometimes, it’s like a landslide. He starts to feel lost, disconnected, vaguely bitter. And in gender role–based families, this makes haunting sense.
See, if your partner has quietly taken care of all the emotional labor—managing feelings, organizing birthdays, translating your stress into something digestible—you may not realize until she’s suddenly busy keeping a whole human alive that she was never just a partner. She was an emotional surrogate mother.
And when that emotional labor is rerouted to a small screaming creature, what’s left is emotional homelessness.
This isn’t just a hunch. Research shows that 10–25% of new fathers experience postpartum depression—a condition long thought to be exclusive to mothers. It peaks around 3–6 months after birth and often goes unrecognized, partly because men are socially trained to hide emotional distress (Paulson & Bazemore, 2010).
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, Madonna-Whore complex. 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 dancing awkwardly around who’s “masculine” or “feminine” enough, as if love is some cosmic game of dress-up.
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.
