I had given discipline a bad rap. It has always felt like my father when I was 14 years old. It has felt like my worst teacher in high school, the one with the horrible coffee and smoker’s breathe. Discipline, to me was the opposite of fun—it was a buzz kill. A masculine, chief master sergeant, buzz kill. But now, as a grown woman, I see that discipline has a lot of class.

Discipline builds confidence like nothing easy can. Discipline tells your brain in no uncertain terms that your soul is in charge of this game of life my dear. I know—I know, you think you’re in control, but my soul’s discipline tells me that I need to turn off the t.v., get up to work out, pass on that pizza… And discipline in itself could care less about popularity or being the center of attention. Discipline rewards itself in just the doing. Discipline creates deep pockets of integrity, eager for use when you are tired or angry or disrespected or whatever.

Part of this new found appreciation comes from a deep and profound love of my father, who had his foot in my butt as a kid. I love my mother too, but for other reasons. My father has mad discipline, but as a kid, I misinterpreted it. As an adult, finally, I embrace his example with humble gratitude and the results are awesome.