Feminine Self-Sacrifice in Fantasy and Fantasy Romance

I've been reading a lot of fantasy romance lately, and I often finish book one in a series and never bother to pick up book two. I couldn’t quite pinpoint why I didn’t care to continue reading. I just knew I wasn’t invested enough in the characters to keep going.

In fact, the only series I have recently started and finished was The Folk of the Air by Holly Black, which isn’t a fantasy romance at all.

After puzzling until my puzzler was sore, I realized the issue lay in a particular character-building weakness: when the heroine’s willingness to sacrifice herself (her dreams, ambitions, personal safety, power, etc.) for others is her sole defining character trait.

Authors try to create characters who are compelling enough to make people care about them, and one way to do that is to give them traits the reader can sympathize with. Since fantasy, even fantasy romance, often deals with high stakes, it makes sense to give a character the willingness to sacrifice for the good of others. However, when this becomes the only defining trait of the female main character (FMC), it leads to a lack of depth and undermines her agency.

The Problem with Feminine Self-Sacrifice

My issue is that this trait manifests differently in male and female main characters, and it often becomes the only defining characteristic of the FMC. I find this not only uninteresting but deeply problematic.

Male characters are often afforded the leeway to be deeply imperfect. They may be violent, ambitious, short-sighted, or chauvinistic, yet they’re still written as compelling characters with agency. When they choose to make a sacrifice, they do so as an act of will and often reap the rewards of personal growth. Their flaws aren’t erased, but the act of sacrificing something for others becomes part of a deliberate decision that drives their arc forward.

In contrast, feminine self-sacrifice is frequently framed not as an active choice that helps them grow beyond their own needs to become something greater, but as a reflection of their inherent goodness or virtue. Instead of being given space for ambition or personal flaws, the FMC’s only claim to heroism is her ability to give up her desires for others. This strips her of the ability to grow, as her selflessness is treated as a permanent, passive state rather than a moment of decision.

When no other defining characteristics make the FMC compelling or likable, the self-sacrifice trope reinforces the idea that a "good woman" sacrifices her identity, safety, and autonomy for the benefit of others. Not because she is making an active choice that will result in personal growth or heroism, but because that’s simply who she is—sacrificing is her default.

The Real-Life Reflection of the Problem

When self-sacrifice is the prominent character trait, not an active choice, it robs the character of the true struggle of giving up something valuable for the sake of others. It also reinforces unhealthy patriarchal ideals that are often imposed on women in real life: if we want to be good, likable, and lovable, we must be self-sacrificial.

This dynamic is reflected in the everyday choices women face and the pressure to not only bear the emotional burdens of those around us but to give up our own ambitions for the sake of others. If we don’t, we’re considered selfish, bad, or unfit. We aren’t given the same permission to be imperfect, complex, or fully human. Male characters, by contrast, are often allowed the space to grow beyond their flaws through their sacrifices, but female characters are too often static, confined to the role of selfless nurturer.

This pressure, both in fiction and in life, encourages the idea that our value lies in what we give up for others, not in what we accomplish or how we grow.

Catharsis vs. Complexity

I understand that many women may find it cathartic to read a story where a person, who has also been pared down to the single defining trait of self-sacrifice, receives a happy ending. There is a certain relief in seeing a woman who endures immense hardship finally be rewarded for her suffering. However, this reinforces the idea that endurance and sacrifice are what make her worthy of love and happiness.

But no one really wants to be hollowed out and stuffed with straw.

The books I connect with most—and the ones I try to write—feature complex, compelling women who are deeply human, with everything that entails: ambition, selfishness, joy, agony, hopes, lust, fear, and love. These characters sacrifice at times, but their sacrifice is treated as an active choice that comes with consequences, growth, and often, moral complexity.

Writing Willow: Moving Beyond Self-Sacrifice

This is why writing The Cutthroat King began as such a struggle. I wanted Willow to overcome the belief that her value as a person lay in what she could do for other people. However, the trope of self-sacrifice as a core character trait is so ingrained in the way female characters are written that, even with my desire for complex, imperfect women, I kept falling into the trap of limiting her agency to "I choose to sacrifice."

It wasn't until I took the time to deeply explore who Willow is beyond what she gives to others—her desires, ambitions, fears, and imperfections—that I was able to create a character with true agency. I realized that her journey needed to be one of recognizing and discarding the belief that her value lies in how much she sacrifices. Willow learns that her worth comes from her wholeness, not from how much of herself she’s willing to give away.

Once I understood this, the writing process began to flow. Willow’s journey became not just a love story but a personal arc of growth, independence, and rejecting harmful beliefs about what makes her valuable.

Looking Forward

That’s not to say I do this perfectly; I realize other authors and readers might disagree. That’s the beauty of being able to read what we enjoy and having access to authors who write what we love.

But for me, this over-reliance on self-sacrifice is a weakness in writing, not a feature. Recognizing what has been throwing me off for so long will allow me to avoid books that rely on this trope and seek out recommendations that feature richer, more complex character-building.

And it makes me even more excited to take Willow and The Cutthroat King on this journey of recognizing and discarding a belief that actively harms so many women. It’s a journey I need to go on myself. For the other women who also live with the pain of believing our only value lies in what we can do for other people: this is for us.