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In my post-apocalyptic story, the split of male and female main/supporting characters is 50/50.

The girls and women in the story, Eris, Marina, and Ezrith, display very little emotion--Eris represses her emotions so that they only come on rarely and in intense waves, Marina only shows emotional vulnerability to those she trusts, and Ezrith's fears and love for others only manifest in controlling behavior and frustration directed at her family and friends.

However, the boys and men, Leo, Alexander, and Caspian, are very much in touch with their emotions--Leo, although gruff, communicates most everything he feels to his loved ones, Alexander is a humorous and empathetic man who constantly watches out for others, and Caspian is a patient and levelheaded dreamer who is unafraid to display affection and his own happiness, sadness, and anger.

In evaluating how I wrote these characters, I realized that stereotypically masculine displays of emotion (i.e no emotion at all or emotion only manifesting as frustration, rage, and possessiveness) are assigned to my female characters, and stereotypically feminine displays of emotion (i.e gentleness, empathy, and patience) are assigned to my male characters.

I didn't realize I had done this until studying portrayals of emotions and their relation to masculinity in the media, and I guess what I'm doing is "subverting" this trope, albeit accidentally. But is "subverting" these tropes a good idea? Is a simple reversal a good thing for my story? I don't plan on having my characters be static--I want my women to open up, and I want my men to think a bit more with their heads than their hearts. So if I were to start out with this basic trope reversal (as I am now), and then progress into growth out of these tropes, would that effectively subvert these tropes?

Subversion is not just a way to introduce literary variety. It is actually subversive. It overturns the established order. So you have to ask yourself, why does the established order exist, and what would be the motive for subverting it?

The stoic male is an established literary trope because it is an established societal phenomena. Through most of human existence, food had been scarce, threats many, lives short, and infant (and maternal) mortality high. Women would spend most of their adult lives either pregnant of caring for small children (more than half of whom would die). Getting enough to eat was a full time job that required hunting, gathering, and other strenuous activities. And women and children were vulnerable to predators and raiders from other tribes.

Women needed the protection of men, and society, up until the 19th century, was conceived of as consisting of families (rather than individuals as it is today) and the role of the male was to provide and protect the female and their offspring. Women and children were literally described as being under the protection of a father or husband or perhaps some other family member or tribal leader. When a father gives away his daughter at his wedding, the meaning of the gesture is that she is passing from his protection to that of her husband. When a ship sank, women and children got into the lifeboats first because it was the job of the men to protect them.

Evolution says that those traits that favor reproduction are passed on. The men who were the best protectors and providers got to have more babies, and so their traits were passed on to their sons. Showing that you are a good protector and provider is obviously important for attracting a mate, and a stoic demeanor is useful both for showing this, and for actually doing it.

But sometime over the course of the 19th and early 20th centuries, we invented the police, office jobs, antibiotics, and Uber eats. Soon women were living to 80, almost all their children were surviving, and they could provide for them themselves and enjoy the protection of the police. They did not need an individual male to provide and protect.

Before these inventions, managing a family and a household was once a complex full-time lifetime job, involving just a many skilled crafts as those of the men who worked the fields. After them, it was not, and women naturally sought a very different role in society. And here we are, trying to figure out how the characteristics developed by thousands of years of evolution are going to work in a world where the forces that shaped them have been almost entirely removed.

So, our inventions have subverted the old male/female dynamic, but our emotions and our psychology have not caught up. Our current literature reflects that subversion and explores its implications, sometimes honestly and dispassionately, and sometimes with an agenda. This often includes projecting currently evolving gender roles backwards and forwards in time.

How does that affect a post-apocalyptic story? Well, an apocalypse is likely to deprive us of police, antibiotics, office jobs, and Uber eats, so it would put us back to a pre-19th century state of affairs in which logic would suggest that gender roles would return to those of that era.

But whether that is what readers of today will want to read is not so certain. It seems entirely possible that you reversed traditional male and female roles because that subversion of the old order is so prevalent in literature today that it is closer to being a default than a subversion anymore.

So there is an argument for going either way.

But beneath this, there is a deeper issue, on which you may or may not have, or want to express an opinion. That is the argument about whether societies, and people's roles within them, are shaped by the environment (presence or absence of police, office jobs, antibiotics, and Uber eats) or are purely social constructs made up by the dominant group to suit themselves. By taking one position or the other on male/female roles in a post apocalyptic society, you would implicitly be taking a position on this highly contentious question.

If you have a position, go for it. If not, at least be aware of the pitfalls that surround whichever choice you make.

It's not that unusual. In fact, the dynamic is why Mulder and Scully worked in the X-Files. Before the show aired, the typical paring in similar series was a skeptical man and a believer woman. X-Files reversed this and gave Scully the supporter of the plausible and Mulder the role of the true believer. In the early seasons, Scully's monologues (usually framed as her reports) were very clinical and very dry, with no emotion from her actress given, and were given imagery of mundane tasks. Mulder on the other hand (often in the form of musing) were much more emotionally charged and carried little factual weight, and the imagry used was normally charged with something mystical or fantastic.

That said, they weren't locked into these roles. When the case had a religious (especially Christian) connection, it was devout Atheist Mulder who is rational, while devout Catholic (to the point that her Crucifix lying on the ground was a cue to both Mulder and the viewer that she was in trouble) Scully would believe. But even in this switch, both are still their natural selves. Scully would still approach the case from a logical point and Mulder from an emotional one. In one of the series first flips, a convicted killer claims that he is getting premonitions as a sort of divine punishment for his crimes. Scully's reason for belief is the man refering to her by a nickname only her recently deceased father called her by (evidence of knowledge of something that he couldn't have if but for a divine link), while Mulder's doubt is because he wrote the profile that led to the man's arrest and conviction (emotional belief that the man's true motive is some form of revenge on the man who put him there).

And when they were under duress, Mulder would become more emotionally compromised, where Scully would work to find a logical solution to the point of exhaustion (once, when suspended from work, she focused on the next logical step, which was going home... which she did, via walking from the FBI HQ to her mother's house, and she only stopped there because she had done the whole thing in heels and her feet hurt). Mulder, on the other hand, would often lashed out at people who were trying to help him, but could not (through no fault of their own).

A trope is something that's been explored in so many books or other forms of entertainment that it has slipped into the collective unconsciousness. They can be useful storytelling tools, but if you let the tropes do the heavy lifting you end up with cliched characters or a predictable plot people have read a dozen times before.

You can subvert the trope by flipping it on its head, but it's not a panacea. Making all the women in your story gruff and men emotional only means you've made your cliches swap bodies. Same product, different packaging.

What to do, then? Well, you've already provided a partial answer to your own question by saying that you want your characters to grow. If you portray your characters as if they could be actual people, if you make their struggles and problems faced relatable, if you can make them emotionally resonate with your readers, your readers will care little whether the character is male or female.

A grown woman who bawls her eyes out because she stepped on a ladybug is a ridiculous stereotype. A grown man who bawls his eyes out because he stepped on a ladybug is equally ridiculous. Neither are ridiculous if a week ago they had to bury their four year old daughter who died after her struggle with a terrible disease, and loved nothing more than to play in the meadow behind the house and catch ladybwuhgs with a butterfly net.

Sometimes you don't even need to do all that much to make a character less of a stereotype. My favorite science fiction novel is Neuromancer. Its male protagonist, Case, is an archetypical loner. He's a drug-addicted criminal who, for the first 250 pages of the book, shows about as much emotional reciprocation as a cardboard box. Very early on in the book he finds the dead body of Linda Lee (a person he once had feelings for) and just... acknowledges the fact.

Near the very end of the book he's sucked into cyberspace by the titular Neuromancer, and finds a simulated version of Linda Lee. He knows she's a fake, even tells Neuromancer this to his face. Yet in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment he hands Fake Linda his jacket. In case the collection of ones and zeros gets cold. That little scene does a lot to suggest there's more to Case than the stereotype suggests.