
It took me many, many years to not only pinpoint my shortcomings, but then even more years to stop beating myself up for them. For whatever reason, discipline never came naturally to me. I wondered: Is it laziness? A lack of drive? A missing spark of passion?
All I knew was this: discipline—or my lack of it—kept me from dreaming big, let alone chasing big, lofty goals.
Seeing other people succeed made me want success too. I wanted added responsibility, the promotion, the accomplishment. I wanted to feel good at the things I enjoyed. But the moment hard work appeared, I felt overwhelmed… and instantly lost interest.
I labeled myself “broken,” but the word I used was quitter. I convinced myself I was doomed never to be good at anything. And if that was the case, why even try?
So I settled into complacency. It wasn’t comfortable, exactly—but it was familiar. Even though I knew I should want growth, I feared attempting anything because failure always felt like a guarantee.
The Moment Everything Shifted
Eventually, something finally broke through that fear: I found a passion that felt different from all the rest. My lifestyle change—better eating, purposeful movement, taking care of my body—completely transformed me, both physically and emotionally.
For the first time, I felt alive. And more importantly, I wanted everyone I loved to feel that way too. I wanted people to experience what it was like to enjoy living again.
As I learned how to help others change their lives, I heard something from my mentor, Rory Vaden, that stopped me in my tracks. He said:
“Easy short-term choices lead to difficult long-term consequences. Difficult short-term choices lead to easy long-term consequences.”
I must have replayed that sentence a thousand times. It was the first time discipline felt less like punishment… and more like freedom.
Then another truth hit me even harder—this time from the Bible, in Hebrews 12:11:
“No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.”
That word—trained—stuck with me. Discipline wasn’t something I lacked. It was something I had never practiced.
Finding Strength in New Places
As I grew in my faith and listened to people who had walked through struggles themselves, I started noticing strengths in me that could help combat the areas I felt weaker in.
For example, I’m a planner. A major planner. If there’s a challenge ahead, I will find 15 alternate routes around it and map out every step. Instead of seeing obstacles as roadblocks, planning helped me see them as puzzles. Suddenly, things that once stopped me in my tracks became things I could navigate.
I’m also extremely competitive—sometimes with others, mostly with myself.
Take my 5 a.m. training runs. Every single morning, the temptation to stay in bed is overwhelming. It’s warm there. All of my snuggle buddies are there (Mark and the dogs, lol) I know that after the run I’ll feel amazing—awake, energized, proud—but in the moment, all I want is sleep.
So what gets me up, laced, and out on that pavement?
I want to beat Mark in our next marathon.
It’s silly, but it works. And it reminds me that discipline doesn’t always have to come from willpower. Sometimes it comes from knowing what motivates you—even if that motivation looks a little ridiculous.
Discipline Finds All of Us Eventually
What I’ve learned is that discipline isn’t a trait some people magically have and others don’t. It’s a skill. A muscle. Something we grow into, practice, and slowly strengthen over time.
The need for discipline finds every one of us, no matter our season of life. There is always room to grow—even if the goal is simply to keep our bodies and minds active so we can enjoy long, healthy lives.
And most of the time, the difficult choice—the early alarm, the healthier meal, the uncomfortable conversation, the step toward growth—is the right one. Because it’s the one that sets our future selves up to thrive.
Difficult now, easier later.
Hard today, peace tomorrow.
That’s what discipline really is. And for the first time, I’m grateful to be learning it.







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