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Tom Satterly

@tomsatterly

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CoFounder: All Secure Foundation and traveling with my wife @jen.satterly - follow us here @settlingthesettlement / CSM (Retired) JSOC.

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WE’RE DONE FIGHTING THE WRONG BATTLE. 🇺🇸

For years, we’ve been fighting a battle that has nothing to do with our mission.

Since at least 2020, we’ve dealt with repeated visibility issues, hidden comments, restricted reach, and countless attempts to get answers from Instagram and Meta.

Enough.

Here’s something we learned in Special Operations:

You don’t waste resources fighting a battle that doesn’t advance the mission.

You assess. You adapt. You redirect your efforts.

And you get back to work.

SO WE’RE CONSOLIDATING FORCES.

Virago, SOF warrior/spouse coaching, marriage retreats, online courses, resources, Camps, and community updates are coming together under ONE social media roof: All Secure.

We’re not retreating. We’re not reducing our commitment.

We’re putting our energy where it actually matters.

Into our warriors.
Into our spouses.
Into our marriages and families.
Into coaching, training, and support that change lives.

Social media will remain a place to share information and stay connected. But we’re done spending our energy fighting algorithms.

OUR MISSION DOESN’T LIVE ON SOCIAL.
It lives in the conversations between warriors and coaches. In marriages finding their way back. In spouses who finally have someone in their corner.

THAT is where our resources belong.

NOW WE NEED YOUR BACKUP.

Follow this page. Share our updates. Tag your teammates. Help us reach the people who need us.

Most importantly, VISIT OUR WEBSITE.

That’s where warriors, spouses, and couples can connect with a coach, explore programs, and get the support they need.

We’re not going anywhere.

We’re just done fighting the wrong battle.

ONE TEAM. ONE MISSION. ALL SECURE.

You can disrupt the comms. You can’t stop the mission. 🇺🇸 by @tomsatterly

Blended families aren’t broken. They’re built.

Tom and I have a blended family. And like most things worth building, it has taken patience, grace, and a willingness to grow together. Love doesn’t erase the complexities. It gives us a reason to work through them.

📌 As ASF Coach Deb reminds us, parenting in a blended family isn’t about replacing roles. It’s about expanding them.

Children thrive when the adults in their lives offer consistency, emotional safety, and respect for one another’s place in the family.

Four reminders from our coaches:

1. Lead with steadiness, not perfection.
Kids watch how we handle complexity more than they expect us to solve it.

2. Affection looks different in every home.
What matters is that children feel seen, valued, and emotionally safe.

3. Co-parenting is a long game.
Small, predictable behaviors build trust over time.

4. Your partnership sets the tone.
When adults communicate clearly and honor boundaries, kids feel anchored.

Blended families are living proof that love can be restructured, expanded, and strengthened.

It’s not easy. But it’s deeply worth it.

Thank you, Coach Deb, for reminding us that building a family isn’t about getting every role perfect. It’s about showing up for one another.

At All Secure Foundation, we understand that family life can be complicated, especially when navigating the unique challenges of the special operations community.

If your family could use support, connect with an ASF coach. We’re here for you.

#AllSecureFoundation #BlendedFamilies #MilitaryFamilies #CoParenting #specialforces by @tomsatterly

Yesterday I sat in an ER next to my wife, watching the numbers on a monitor.
She’s okay. Thank God, she’s okay.
I was praying constantly. As I drove to pick her up, all the way to the hospital, and for hours sitting there, waiting in fear.
I’ve been in some of the hardest places on earth. I know what fear feels like. But nothing prepared me for the fear of losing Jen.
Sitting in that room, the questions hit me hard. Did I tell her I loved her this morning? Have I been patient enough? Present enough? Have I been giving her my best, or just what’s left over at the end of the day?
I know how deep our love is. I pay attention to it. But yesterday showed me just how deep it really runs, and how fast everything we take for granted can be pulled out from under us.
So here’s my ask: don’t wait for a hospital room to have that realization.
Look at the person you love tonight. Put the phone down. Say the thing you’ve been meaning to say. Own the thing you’ve been too proud to own. Hold on a little longer.
We’re not promised tomorrow. Love like you know it.
Jen, you are my whole world. ❤️ by @tomsatterly

Today is Jen’s 51st birthday, and I wanted to write about the woman who holds my heart.
Babe, you didn’t get an easy start. As a little girl you lived through things no child should ever face. It could have easily made you hard. Instead it made you tender and caring. You learned to love hurting people because you knew what hurting felt like, and that’s how you were able to love me. When I came home broken, you stood in the fire with me and never let go of my hand.
You are an amazing mother and the most beautiful soul I know. You bared your heart and shared the secret parts of your life with the world, just so someone suffering in silence would know they’re not alone and that healing is real. Selfless soul.
You’ve been attacked by people you once called friends, and still you choose grace, always attempting to remain mature and godly, following Jesus the best you know how.
Every morning I get to watch you wake up renewed. You head off to Bible study excited and come back with that joyful voice and that smile that still stops me in my tracks. The world tries all day to take your joy, and every morning God gives me a new Jen. A stronger Jen. A better Jen. And I fall in love with you all over again.
You are my best friend, my safe place, and the greatest gift of my life.
To everyone reading this, if Jen has touched your life, tell her below. Let her know how loved she is.
Happy birthday, my beautiful, amazing wife. I will love you forever. by @tomsatterly

It’s remarkable how much living we can do without ever leaving our minds.

The conversations we’ve had. The arguments we’ve rehearsed. The heartbreaks we’ve endured and the beautiful moments we’ve imagined in perfect detail.

Entire chapters of our lives written, rewritten, and occasionally grieved.

And yet none of it ever happened.

Out on our drive, Tom described a scene in extraordinary detail. Every character had a role. Every reaction, even the ending, was decided.

I told him he was a beautiful screenwriter, however, none of the actors even knew they’d been cast.

I recognized the talent immediately.
I’m quite the accomplished screenwriter myself.

Our stories differ, but often come from the same place.

The need to know what’s coming.
To be prepared. To feel safe.

Tom’s training taught him to anticipate threats. My childhood taught me to read a room, to notice a shift in someone’s voice, to sense trouble before it arrived.

Different classrooms. A remarkably similar lesson.

Don’t get caught off guard.

But the instincts that once protected us don’t always know when their work is done.

They follow us home.

Into our relationships, even our happiest expectations.

I can imagine the perfect holiday before any wreath is hung. I used to think that was romanticizing life. Imagining the perfect outcome was another way of protecting myself from another disappointment.

If I anticipate the worst, maybe I can prevent it. If I imagine the best, maybe I can make that happen, too.

However, that same imagination made it unfair to the other actors. Words never spoken that hurt. Promises never made that disappointed. Casting loved ones in roles they never agreed to.

Tom and I still catch ourselves directing imaginary productions. Understanding why doesn’t make the habit disappear.

But we’re learning to recognize it.
To let people speak their own lines.
To let a moment be beautiful without following our plan.

Healing isn’t knowing how every scene ends.
It’s feeling safe enough to let the story unfold.

We’ve lived so many lives inside our minds.

It would be a shame to miss the one happening right in front of us. 🤍 by @tomsatterly

Jesus didn’t make Paul’s road easier. He made Paul’s purpose clearer.

Saul’s life was arguably easier before Jesus. He had status. Education. Religious authority. A tribe. Certainty.

Then he met Christ.

And what followed? Prison. Beatings. Rejection. Shipwreck. Hunger. Betrayal. Eventually, martyrdom.

Not an easier path.

I think part of me believed following Christ would make my life easier. And in many ways, it has. I have a compass now. I know who I’m following.

But having a compass doesn’t mean the terrain gets easier. Jesus never said it would. He said the road was narrow.

Before Christ, Saul knew the rules. He knew where he stood. He knew who the enemy was. He was so certain of his own righteousness that he persecuted the followers of Jesus.

Then one of the most extraordinary plot twists in Scripture happened.

Jesus met one of His enemies on that road. And He didn’t destroy him.

He redeemed him.

The persecutor became the persecuted. And the man who once watched Christians suffer would eventually write:

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.”

Grace was no longer theoretical to him. He had been the enemy Christ loved.

Following Christ in a dark world doesn’t mean fighting darkness with darkness. It means refusing to let darkness determine who we become.

The world says destroy the person who hurts you. Christ says love your enemy.

The world says humiliate the person who humiliates you. Christ says forgive.

The world says power is winning. Christ kneels and washes feet.

Sometimes obedience costs you the room you used to belong in. Sometimes following Christ changes your friendships, ambitions, reputation, even your definition of success.
Sometimes forgiveness requires more courage than revenge.

And sometimes you can be exactly where God called you to be and still find yourself in a prison cell.

Prison wasn’t proof God abandoned Paul. The hardship wasn’t proof he took the wrong road.

The road was hard because it was the road.

Jesus never promised Paul paradise on Earth. He gave him something else: Purpose. Truth. Grace.

And the promise that whatever happened on the road, Paul would never walk it alone. by @tomsatterly

The days keep getting better. What’s great about your day today. No negativity needed in a day that lasts beyond the moment. Stay happy. Shake the bad. by @tomsatterly

Coming home and leaving a place are two very different things.

33 years ago today, Tom was a 26 year old Delta Force operator in Mogadishu.

He was surrounded by men who had trained together, served together, and trusted one another with their lives.

On October 3rd and 4th, 1993, they fought for one another, carried one another, and went toward their brothers when others might have turned away.

Some went beyond what most of us could ever fathom, laying down their lives for another.

There is terrible darkness in war.
And there is also courage, sacrifice, loyalty, and love.

For a long time, part of Tom remained in Mogadishu. Even 33 years later, the smell of bleach, oppressive heat, a sound, a face, or a memory can take him right back. October 3rd. 4th. 6th.

There were years when the weight of what happened nearly consumed the life he came home to live.

Slowly, he faced it, the battle, the loss, the choices that followed, and the warrior he had been and will always be.

He rebuilt his life. Is still rebuilding.

He no longer lives in Mogadishu, but he will always carry parts of it with him. Especially the hearts of his brothers.

Some of his brothers never came home. Some came home and were lost in the years that followed. Others are still here, carrying memories and names that have never left them.

Today, remember all of them: those who answered the call, fought beside one another, gave their lives, and came home to continue fighting battles few could see.

Remember their families. The incredible weight they have carried, too.

They are no longer the young men who walked into Mogadishu. They are husbands, fathers, grandfathers…

But some part of them will always remain together on those streets.

“Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”
And I said, “Here am I. Send me.”
Isaiah 6:8

October 3. October 4. October 6 1993.

Never forgotten. by @tomsatterly

I don’t know exactly when I lost touch with her.

There wasn’t a falling out. No argument. No goodbye. No single moment when we decided to go our separate ways.

I think life just happened.

And somewhere in the middle of loving people, losing things, carrying responsibilities, and trying to be enough, I stopped checking in on her.

Until today.

There was something familiar about her. The way she smiled. The way she tilted her head. Little things I remembered from years ago.

She seemed different now. A little older. Quieter. Like life had asked more of her than she’d expected.

I remembered her being full of life.
Always dreaming about something.
She laughed easily.
She believed in things.
In people.
In possibilities.

As I sat with her, I noticed the little ways she’d changed. The lines around her eyes. The softness in her face. The things time had left behind.

Beneath all of it, there was something so familiar. I could still see her.

And I wondered how long she’d been waiting for someone to notice.

How many times she’d quietly disappeared into the background while everyone else went about their lives.

How long it had been since someone had simply sat with her and paid attention.

She had this way of looking forward to life. Like something good was always just around the corner.

I’d forgotten how much I loved that about her. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed her.

She was still beautiful to me. Still funny. Still hopeful, somewhere beneath the hurt.

She hadn’t disappeared.
I’d just stopped looking for her.

For the first time in years, I really saw her.

As I caught my reflection in the window I whispered, “Don’t be a stranger”.
We have so much catching up to do. by @tomsatterly

Fall in New England. Can’t express how amazing it is up here. Preparing for winter however 😬 by @tomsatterly

I almost quit something I loved because I thought struggling made me a fraud.

This weekend at Camp Virago, I told a room full of women something I haven’t known how to say for a long time:

I built this. And sometimes I’m not even sure I belong here.

Then I looked around and said, “I bet some of you feel that way too.”

Heads started nodding. A lot of them.

We don’t have to be sisters or immediate best friends. Sometimes that feels forced and puts too much pressure on a room.

Instead, I asked one thing: Just be a good neighbor.

See me. Make room for me. Sit beside me if I’m alone. Be kind even if I’m not your person.

Maybe I needed that lesson too.

Somewhere along the way, I poured so much of myself into this work that I couldn’t tell where All Secure ended and I began.

And eventually, I ran out of words.

For years, Tom and I spent hundreds of hours in front of Special Operators and their spouses telling our story.

All of it.

The dirty laundry. The darkest parts. The things most couples would never dream of saying out loud.

We told it because it helped people.

Until I realized I didn’t want to keep talking about the darkest chapters of our lives anymore.

Not because I was ashamed of them.
Because we were ready to stop living in them.

The story that helped other people heal had started keeping us tethered to a version of ourselves we were trying to leave behind.

And without that story, I didn’t know what to say next.

So I stopped writing.
But I kept showing up.
Sometimes beautifully. Sometimes barely.

For a long time, I thought that made me inauthentic.

I’m beginning to understand it made me human.

The people doing the helping sometimes need help too.

The woman who created a place for everyone else to belong can wonder if she belongs there herself.

I’m still figuring out where I belong.
Still showing up.
Still writing.

And trying really hard to be a good neighbor along the way. 🤍 by @tomsatterly

As Jen and I sit here watching the sunset. I found myself in Somalia watching it set in my head.

If I cried only one day a year, it would be today.

October 3rd will always carry a weight that words can’t fully explain. I have nothing but love, sadness, and deep respect for every warrior who took part in the Battle of Mogadishu, and for the families who lived through it without the training, the team, or the support that surrounded the men who fought that day.

We remember the fallen. We honor those who came home. And we hold space for those who are still carrying pieces of that day.

But if there’s one thing I want anyone reading this to hear, it’s this:

You are allowed to heal.

You are allowed to be happy again. You are allowed to laugh, to love, to feel normal, to feel whole. You don’t have to carry guilt for surviving. You don’t have to punish yourself for what you couldn’t control. And you don’t have to spend the rest of your life proving that what happened mattered.

Forgive yourself for whatever is holding you back.

Accept forgiveness. Give forgiveness. And most of all, give yourself permission to live.

Never forget. Always move toward the light.

October 3, 1993. We remember. by @tomsatterly