Stop Complaining About Being Single If You Won't Do Anything To Change It

Literally all I do is complain about being single. It's all I think about. It's all I talk about. Sundays are the bane of my existence, because deep down, I know they're really low-key Couples' Day.

Social media platforms are my favorite things ever because they give me the opportunity to express all my grievances (for a damn good time, follow me on Twitter). I complain about being single more than Kim Kardashian complains about her post-baby weight.

See for yourself:

I think you get the picture.

I've got this friend who's unbelievably predictable in her self-sabotaging routine. She'll spend her entire day swiping through every dating app or dating site you can think of: Tinder, Bumble, OKCupid. Wouldn't be surprised if she had an account with Farmers Only.

She'll strike up conversations with all the guys she matches with, and then they'll ask her out on dates, and she'll even go so far as to schedule the dates. But when the day of the date finally approaches, she either doesn't text the dude back to confirm or ghosts him completely.

The next day, she'll roll into work, and everything will be cool. But then something small and seemingly insignificant will happen -- like, her cat will throw up on her -- and she'll mutter to herself, "Welp, I'm gonna be single forever." Then she'll take to Instagram and post some self-deprecating quote about the sorrows of single life and caption it #SingleForever. And then I'll go on a rant and yell at her, saying her actions don't match up with her supposed romantic desires.

Yes, for the most part, she's being facetious in those Instagrams, but she's also half-serious. Regardless, her indecision about WTF she wants in life is annoying AF to witness.

My friend is not one of those people who Tinders on the toilet. She is that girl you see in movies: the one who cries into her wine about not having a guy. She spends practically every minute of her free time looking for a boyfriend, but she won't actually compromise any of that same time to be with a guy.

Honestly, I can't even be mad at her. I do the same exact thing in a slightly different way.

What's my method of relationship aversion? Well, for one thing, I don't go on dates because I don't schedule them. I don't use Tinder or Bumble. I don't take up friends on their offers to set me up with their friends (and when I do,  I'm completely unwilling to sacrifice my time at the gym for a first date). I also usually have a few different men I half-like on tap. If ignoring good guys while simultaneously having unavailable men on rotation doesn't scream "emotionally unavailable," I don't know what does.

I can bet that you -- whoever you are -- might be like me or my friend. Well, I've got something to say to you: If all you do is complain about not having a man, but you aren't doing anything to change the fact that you don't have a man, you do not have a license to complain. I'm talking to the girl who has opportunities to leave single life behind, but doesn't entertain those opportunities as possibilities. You go vintage shopping on a Sunday morning for a pashmina you don't need while your friend's friend -- who you admittedly have chemistry with -- is trying his best to take you out for Sunday brunch. You don't budge when there's room to budge. You don't date people who want to date you.

And you know when you're done with that shopping excursion and the sun's finally set, you'll go home and text that poor guy. You won't do it to actually see things through with him; you'll do it for an ego boost. Because for an hour or two of your crazy, busy life, you'll find herself unequivocally alone, so texting him will make sense in that moment, even though you'll wake up the next morning and want nothing to do with him.

But wanting a guy only in your vulnerable moments isn't enough to hate being single, because for the other 97 percent of your life, you're actually pretty satisfied. Reaching for the nice guy when you're lonely makes you the girl version of the f*ckboys you complain about. It makes you a f*ckgirl.

Trust me, I get it. I recently wrote about how there are few things in life I enjoy more than exercising, and you've got to be a f*cking unicorn to get me to move around my workout routine for you. Like, I'm talking six-foot, British, well-endowed, feminist (but not a pushover), smart (but not pretentious) and aggressive (but not a f*ckboy).

BTW, can I just say, damn. Even laying out my criteria like that makes me realize that my grievances about being single are rooted in near-impossible expectations, so they're hardly warranted. But I have these criteria, and I'm sticking to them. So until someone meets them, I should just enjoy being single. And I'm starting to notice being single is kind of fun.

Did I really just say that? Me, Sheena, the hopeless romantic? The girl whose nighttime routine involves clutching her teddy bear for dear life while whimpering silently to the "Pride and Prejudice" soundtrack? I mean, look, I'll indulge in those moments of loneliness when they hit, but I don't act on them. That can only mean I like feeling those feelings and not acting on them. That can only mean I like singledom.

Enjoying singledom is the only logical explanation for my behavior. If I hated being single that much, I think I'd be with someone by now. Because though you really can't help who you fall for, you can decide to carve out time to get to know someone. Getting to know someone leads to respecting him, which can lead to loving him, which can lead to being in love with him. So you sure as hell aren't gonna get anywhere by screaming "f*ck men!" every chance you get while not actually giving men a chance.

I'm not saying I love being single every minute of every day. That'd be an exaggeration. What I am saying is that in this current phase of my life, I don't hate singledom enough to change it. I'm comfortable enough in my little single bubble. I can eat what I want, say what I want, sleep in when I want and f*ck who I want to f*ck. And that, my friends, is kind of a cool revelation to have.

Who knows why we complain about being single? Maybe it's easier to complain about it than to admit we actually don't mind it. With social pressure left and right -- our besties getting engaged, our great-aunts asking us when our time will come -- it's practically a sin to be 25 and relishing in single life. I mean, God forbid.

Here's the takeaway: Don't complain about something not worth complaining about. I guess maybe it's about time I start taking my own advice.