Women's shelter offers safety—and time

The idea for Lydia's House was born in the oldest sort of sanctuary: a house church, where an ecumenical group met to celebrate their common beliefs. They didn't come under cover of darkness and hide their bread and candles, as the early Christians did. But they did want to live their faith with courage. After meeting week after week and searching their hearts, four of the women decided they would try to help women who had been abused.

One of the founders was an ordained United Church of Christ minister, and two were studying at a United Church of Christ seminary. Then there was Dawn Stringfield, who was working on the Tomahawk weapon control system for McDonnell-Douglas.

"I have a checkered past," she said lightly. "Twenty years in business and technology, barge lines and Fortune 500 companies. The journey was circuitous." Now executive director of Lydia's House, she feels like she has come full circle. "There had always been a draw for me to children or women in situations where somebody has taken power over them," she said. "I've tried to go back and get in touch with why, and I really haven't been able to tap into it. I had an incredibly loving family. But I was making a speech on rape and child abuse in a public speaking class when I was 16."

When she and her colleagues researched the St. Louis community, they found that there were hotlines that would help a woman make a safety plan, and there were shelters to keep her safe for 90 days--and then there was nothing. "There's no way that someone who's been abused can turn her life around in 90 days," Stringfield said. "It's one thing for bumps and bruises to heal, another when you've been beaten down every day and told you are stupid. Maybe the abuser never allowed her to work, or racked up a lot of debt; maybe there were long-term health problems. Yet all that many shelters can do is say goodbye at the end of those 90 days.

"Some women try to shelter-shop," she continued wryly. "Others move in with family or friends, and that's not safe, because their abuser knows where [the woman is]. The worst options are they return to their abuser or wind up on the streets."

Bent on providing longer-term safe housing and emotional support for women who had been abused, the four women went house-hunting in 1995. They had about $700 in the bank when they came upon a two-family flat. "The gentleman selling the property recommended a banker who might give us a loan," Stringfield recalled.

"Purely on a vision of what this program could accomplish, he gave that first $50,000 loan. And he subsequently put up drywall and painted our building and served on our board," she said.

In 12 years, Lydia's House has grown from two apartments to 35, its budget from $207,000 to $1.1 million. Nearly one-third of its funding comes from individuals; the rest from government, special events and organizations. "In the beginning, it was a challenge because of the need to keep our visibility under the radar screen for the security of our residents," Stringfield said. "As we found a way to increase publicity about the organization while maintaining confidentiality, we've been more successful. For the most part, we can't show a face or a place to our funders; many will never see or meet the people whose lives they've helped change."

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The only program of its kind in St. Louis, the largest in Missouri and one of the largest in the nation, Lydia's House is unusual in that it's a standalone facility, not an outgrowth of an emergency shelter. Referrals must come from emergency domestic violence shelters; while most come from the five shelters in the St. Louis area, shelters in other states sometimes refer clients who need the extra safety of moving far from home.

Lydia's House can welcome 35 women and up to 70 children, and they can stay as long as two years. The sites are in the southern part of St. Louis, close to public transportation, grocery stores, schools and daycare facilities. One site is an apartment building, so women see each other in the stairwell or doing laundry. The other site has multiple buildings and a community center.

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"We originally thought we'd keep adding two-family flats," Stringfield said, "but community was so important. Moms would help each other by babysitting.... And the kids connected. Kids who'd been living on eggshells, watching their moms being hurt, were finally meeting other kids and talking about stuff they couldn't talk about at school, stuff it wasn't safe to talk about anywhere else."

Women who have been longer at Lydia's House help teach the newcomers, too. "Somebody comes into a support group thinking she has to accomplish everything now," Stringfield said. "Somebody who's been at Lydia's House for nine months can say to her, 'OK, breathe. Take it one day at a time, one step at a time.' It's one thing for a trained social worker to say, 'You can do this.' It's another for somebody who's been through what you've been through to say, 'You will make it, your kids are gonna struggle and say they still love Daddy, but you will make it.'"