09/11/2026
I have a story to tell, and it begins almost 20 years ago. I came to House of Ruth, not just because I needed a job, but because I knew, deep in my bones, what domestic violence does to a family. I grew up as a child of domestic violence so when I found House of Ruth, it felt less like a career move and more like a calling. Their mission was already my mission. I left the corporate world for the nonprofit sector, and for the first time, my soul felt full. The work was hard, but it was meaningful. I loved advocating for survivors. I loved being part of a place where people came through the door, frightened, exhausted, and unsure of what came next, and found safety, dignity, and a new beginning.
Over the years I achieved a lifelong goal: I became the CEO. I had reached the pinnacle of my career. But what has stayed with me the most is not a title - it is the faces and stories of survivors. I have watched people escape situations most of us can hardly imagine. I have seen parents and children take their first breaths of freedom. I have had survivors come back years later to say thank you for the work that changed the course of their lives. This year, House of Ruth celebrates 50 years of that work. I have been blessed to serve for nearly 20 of them.
And still domestic violence is not going away. We hear the news stories of murder-suicides rooted in intimate partner violence. We complete annual shelter data surveys and see demand rising in our city, across our region, and around the country. We have celebrated progress when awareness campaigns helped reduce gun violence, only to face new and devastating increases in strangulation and stabbings. Survivors are reaching out for help, but shelters are full. Services have wait lists. The need is greater than the resources available. The supply simply does not meet the demand.
The people who do this work carry that weight every day. They sit with trauma, crisis, fear, and grief - and then they come back the next day to do it again. Vicarious trauma and secondary trauma are real. There is no denying it: this work is hard. Very hard. And yet I have never worked with a fiercer, more dedicated group of people in my entire career. We are all here for one reason: to help survivors and their children find safety, healing, and hope.
But now we face another kind of trauma. I call it organizational trauma. Yesterday my CFO and I sat across from each other in sheer exhaustion, staring at the same impossible questions: How will we cover payroll? How will we pay rising health insurance premiums? How will we keep rental subsidies flowing for families who are trying to rebuild their lives? How do we continue to say yes to survivors when the systems meant to support them keep forcing us to wait?
House of Ruth, like many domestic violence agencies, relies heavily on government funding, but the government has not upheld its promises in a way that allows agencies like ours to plan, breathe, or serve with stability. Federal funding has been erratic, inconsistent, delayed and paused. Executive orders, funding freezes, delayed contracts, and legal battles, ripple all the way down to a small agency in Pomona-and ultimately to the survivors we serve. We sign onto lawsuits. We raise our voices. We push back where we can. But the uncertainty is crushing.
We are living in a constant state of anxiety: What happens next? Will the reimbursement arrive in time? Can we keep the programs open? Can we keep people housed? Last month alone, we served 569 people across our programs. Each number represents a person, a family, a story, a moment when safety could not wait.
As CEO, I have had many sleepless nights. My executive management team and I live with the constant question of whether we have enough money in the bank to cover payroll every two weeks. We wait and hope that months of government reimbursements will finally be released so our cash flow can stabilize. We are not a wealthy agency. We have drained available cash reserves to cover rent for survivors, payroll for crisis workers, and the rising cost of keeping our doors open. I am exhausted. I am scared. None of us expected it would become this hard. Some sister agencies have already closed their doors. Many executive directors and CEOs have retired. This crisis is taking a toll on the domestic violence field, and I worry deeply about the next generation of leaders.
Our donors have been incredibly supportive and we are grateful beyond words, but with more than $2 million in unstable government funding, gratitude alone cannot keep every promise we have made to survivors. We need more help, and we need it now.
I know I am taking a risk by sharing these vulnerable thoughts so publicly. But I’m willing to take that risk because I need people to understand what this work looks like right now-not in theory, but in real life, behind the doors of agencies trying to hold the line for survivors.
House of Ruth has done good and necessary work for 50 years. I’m proud of what we have accomplished. I believe we will survive this rough patch, but we cannot do it alone. Survivors and their children are counting on us and we are asking others to stand with us. We need your help!
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