This Couple Tried a Female-Led Relationship to Heal After Betrayal... It Backfired
- Erin Alexander
- 7 days ago
- 4 min read
When this couple first landed in my inbox, they weren’t coming to me for “regular couples therapy.” They already had that. They’d been in marriage counseling for a couple of months, using a structured method to work through infidelity. She was also in individual therapy because of a trauma history, and she had a medical team managing chronic pain.
They came to me for something more specific: they wanted to explore a female-led relationship (FLR), and they wanted to do it without undoing the trust they were trying to rebuild.
The betrayal didn’t involve a physical affair. The husband had gotten on a dating site and started conversations with women about FLR—learning, imagining, testing the dynamic. Even without sex, it was a breach of their agreement. And it was discovered, not disclosed, which often intensifies the injury: now the betrayed partner is not only hurt, but also destabilized by what they didn’t know.
Before we talked about “power,” we talked about safety. After infidelity, many couples need temporary guardrails, especially around technology and secrecy. I’m firm about two things: transparency should be time-limited, and it should be consent-based. The point is to rebuild trust, not create a permanent surveillance system.
So we agreed on a simple boundary: the betrayed partner asks for access; the partner who broke trust unlocks and hands the device over. No grabbing. No sneaking. Respect and accountability at the same time. Long term, we want couples to move from secrecy (harmful hiding) to privacy (healthy boundaries).
Then we moved into FLR education. I needed to gauge how familiar each partner was. He had spent about a year researching and he wasn’t framing FLR as primarily sexual. For him it was relational: service, structure, devotion, and a clear leadership dynamic. She had never heard of FLR before the betrayal, but she said, “If he’s interested, I might be interested too. Maybe this could bring us closer.”
My starting recommendations were straightforward:
Learn first (credible sources, community norms, language).
Explore together (so it doesn’t become “his secret world”).•
Take baby steps (small, negotiated behaviors rather than a lifestyle overhaul).
That’s when the case took a hard turn.
Over time, it became clear she was using “FLR” as punishment. Not negotiated power exchange, punishment. “Control” became a way to force repeated conversations about the betrayal: demanding his phone at any moment, pushing dominance into humiliation, turning service into something he wasn’t “allowed” to enjoy. When he cooked, cleaned, or massaged her feet, she got angry if he seemed pleased. The message was, “This is supposed to hurt.”
He later disclosed she slapped him once and made humiliating comments. He was open to submission, he liked caring for her, he was okay with her taking more control of finances, and he enjoyed her being more directive sexually. But he didn’t consent to belittling or retaliation. There’s a difference between negotiated erotic intensity (“I want this”) and imposed degradation (“You deserve this”). Consent is the line.
At that point, I pushed for a written agreement. Any alternative dynamic benefits from something concrete: what’s on the table, what’s off-limits, how to pause, and how to repair if someone feels flooded. Agreements are living drafts, you amend them as you learn, but they give the couple a shared map when emotions spike.
He wanted to write it. She wanted “all or nothing.” And in a relationship still healing, all-or-nothing is usually a nervous system demand, not a sustainable strategy. Eventually he said, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I feel like I’m being punished.” FLR wasn’t creating connection; it was becoming the battleground.
Then came the email that changed my stance: a domestic-violence incident. She tried to block him from leaving during an escalation. My priority became safety, not relationship exploration.
I encouraged him to exit when he could and to involve law enforcement if needed as a safety check. And I set a boundary: I could not work with them together under those circumstances, and we could not do FLR work. If they ever returned to conjoint sessions, it would need to be alongside their marriage counselor so both professionals were aligned and the process couldn’t be weaponized.
I continued with him individually for a short period, mostly maintenance and reality-checking. I referred her back to her individual therapist more firmly because emotional regulation had to stabilize before any power dynamic could be ethical.
One more piece mattered, and it wasn’t being named loudly enough: chronic pain. She’d been dealing with it for two to three years. They used to travel and be active together. He was still active; she was limited. That shift can quietly create a caregiver dynamic, resentment, grief, and insecurity on both sides. When it isn’t spoken, it often leaks into control fights and sexual conflict.
What I want coaches and clinicians to take from this:
Separate the threads: infidelity, trauma, medical issues, and kink dynamics aren’t one problem.
Build trust toward privacy, not surveillance.
FLR is never a tool for revenge; power without consent is harm.
Written agreements protect everyone, especially when pain, meds, or trauma can shift the emotional weather fast.
Have a referral ecosystem (trauma-informed, kink-aware providers), so you’re not trying to be everything.
FLR can be beautiful. Repair can be beautiful. But neither can be built on coercion. The foundation is always the same: safety, consent, and mutual care, especially when trust is still learning how to breathe again.
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