Kathleen Stevens recently took a phone call from a woman in Vancouver who believed her abuser would kill her that night. She’s terrified for her life and Stevens, an 82-year-old Hazel Dell woman who uses her savings to help fleeing domestic violence victims, is her last hope.
But Stevens could find no beds available at shelters she called.
“If I start crying, it’s because I’ve hit a brick wall,” Stevens said. “It’s so frustrating. … There’s nowhere for her to go.”
Advocates like Stevens say a lack of shelter and safe housing is fueling domestic violence in Washington. Federal funding cuts that may hit domestic violence programs next year will make the situation even more dire if the state doesn’t commit to permanent funding, they say.
Domestic violence is the leading cause of homelessness for women in the United States, according to the federal Office of Family Violence Prevention and Services. In Clark County, the number of people who said they’re homeless due to domestic violence more than doubled from 808 people in 2022 to 1,794 in 2023, according to newly released numbers from the Council for the Homeless management information system.
And yet, even with an alarming number of domestic violence homicides, Clark County has shelter space for only 14 families fleeing domestic violence. Those spaces are consistently full, according to YWCA Clark County, which runs the shelter.
“There’s always less space than the amount of requests that we get,” said Beth Landry, YWCA vice president of domestic violence programs.
Even if someone can receive shelter, it’s not a permanent solution. It’s common to see survivors cycle through shelters because there’s no affordable or safe housing to go to after their allotted 60- to 90-day stay, said Elizabeth Montoya, communications coordinator for the Washington State Coalition Against Domestic Violence, a statewide advocacy group.
“They can’t make it on their own, so they have to keep returning to abuse or returning to homelessness,” Montoya said.
Seeking shelter
Advocates say victims of domestic violence are most likely to be killed by their abusers when they try to leave. Abusers typically isolate their partners from family and friends. They often control their partner’s finances and destroy their credit so they can’t move anywhere else, especially within places like Clark County where housing costs often require two incomes, Stevens said.
Seven or eight times a week, she receives a phone call from someone seeking shelter to escape an abuser.
About four times a month, she’ll receive a call from someone who has already left — finding the courage to run, frequently with children in tow and no money or possessions.
Stevens, who founded her own nonprofit called You Can Stop Domestic Abuse, calls shelters and asks for beds, but there’s rarely space. Sometimes, she’ll use her own money to put someone in a motel, but she can’t afford to do that for each person. When she can pay for motel stays, the survivor has nowhere to go to afterward.
She rarely hears from them again. She assumes they either return to the abuser or become homeless.
“When you see something where the woman gets killed or the man or the kids, and then everybody goes, ‘Why didn’t she leave?’ You can see why,” Stevens said. “How?”
‘Impossible decisions’
YWCA Clark County’s shelter is reserved for people who are considered at risk of being killed by their abusers. The nonprofit takes a methodical approach to helping people leave their abusers. It can take months of planning.
If there’s no shelter space, victims of domestic violence often simply continue living with their abuser until they can escape to a safe house. All of Washington is grappling with a lack of shelter specifically for survivors of domestic violence, Montoya said.
“Survivors are faced with these really impossible decisions every day to leave an abusive relationship and become homeless or to stay with an abuser and risk their safety,” Montoya said. “No one should have to be in that situation.”
Shelters specifically for survivors of domestic violence are important because they need increased safety measures, like security cameras and hidden locations.
“People going through this are facing so much trauma, and it’s really important that they have people around them who really understand that and can be supportive to that,” Montoya said.
Housing first
Simply adding more shelter beds isn’t a complete solution, Landry said. Shelter can be good way to get out of a bad situation fast, but it’s temporary.
Survivors need housing afterward — in a safe location and with landlords who understand poor credit is common after leaving an abuser. That kind of housing isn’t common in the private market, so programs including YWCA fund transitional housing.
“There’s far more people in need of housing than there are housing resources available,” Landry said.
The Washington State Coalition Against Domestic Violence advocates for a housing-first approach — getting a survivor into housing as quickly as possible so they don’t have to return or be homeless.
But Washington is struggling to keep domestic violence programs alive as it is. The federal Victims of Crime Act directs money from criminal fines to domestic violence programs. That funding was cut by $700 million — about 40 percent — nationwide in 2024.
Washington tried to keep its programs afloat by allocating one-time funding of $41.3 million for crime victim services and $750,000 for emergency domestic violence shelters. The city of Vancouver also allocated almost $1 million for domestic violence shelters and housing in July.
However, both local and state funding will end by June 30. If the funding isn’t renewed, it may force some domestic violence programs to shut down or cut back on services.
The loss of Victims of Crime Act money shows the need for Washington to dedicate permanent funding for already suffering shelter and housing programs, Montoya said.
States including California have taken action by funding domestic violence housing-first programs.
“States are choosing to fund this because they see that it works. They see that it’s effective,” Montoya said. “I think our communities really deserve that too.”
