HOBBS

Underground resources are abundant in this southeastern New Mexico community.

Hobbs sits atop potentially more than a billion barrels of oil and trillions of cubic feet of natural gas in the Permian Basin. Along the highways into town, U.S. 82 and N.M. 529, pumpjacks bow as they lift oil from wells deep underground. Trucks deliver workers and supplies to drilling sites. Gas flares flicker on the horizon.

The city’s “Choose Hobbs” website advertises an average salary of $102,450 for jobs in oil and gas.

But that abundance doesn’t trickle down to the local domestic violence shelter, which served some 3,000 people last year — over 7% of the population of this city of about 41,000, or 4% of Lea County’s 75,000.

The shelter, run by the nearly 50-year-old nonprofit Option Inc., operated in 2025 on an annual budget of about $500,000, well below the median home price in Santa Fe.

Its staff of 14, who must hold some kind of diploma, start at $12 to $15 an hour, Executive Director Robert Guthrie said, noting those same workers could earn starting wages of $14 to $17 per hour in the oil fields, with no experience and no education.

The low pay at Option Inc. is a symptom of what Guthrie and other advocates say is chronic underfunding of domestic violence services in New Mexico.

“We look out for each other,” Guthrie said of his staff. “We laugh, we joke, we cry sometimes — together. But these guys have got to be able to pay their bills … and I’ve got to compete with the oilfield.”

‘Where is the equity?’

Records from the New Mexico Children, Youth and Families Department, which administers much of the state funding for domestic violence services, show funding has remained largely flat, even as the child welfare agency’s annual budget has grown by more than $100 million in recent years.

Without increases, organizations like Option Inc. — which address a problem that directly affects an estimated 315,000 women in New Mexico — can’t offer wages sufficient to recruit and retain qualified staff.

CYFD’s spending on domestic violence services has hovered around $20 million since fiscal year 2022, according to state documents obtained by the New Mexico Coalition Against Domestic Violence and verified by The New Mexican.

Lawmakers earlier this year passed a memorial to study domestic violence spending and estimate how much it would cost to “fully fund” survivor services.

For providers — some with waitlists that are months long due to a lack of investment, according to coalition Executive Director MaryEllen Garcia — the lack of state funding isn’t just a tricky financial situation. It’s a statement of New Mexico’s values.

“I have a shelter with 14 people on staff here. We helped over 3,000 people last year. Where is the equity in this?” Guthrie said. “And then we get no extra money or funding — because I guess we’re not considered important enough.”

With more funding, Guthrie estimates he and his team could reduce domestic violence in Lea County by half. In addition to providing higher wages for workers, he would focus on breaking the cycle of violence by expanding the organization’s batterer intervention program for offenders.

“If you want to hold us accountable, give us the money and hold us accountable,” Guthrie said. “Give us goals, objectives, things that you think are measurable. I’m not afraid to tackle those kinds of things to help people.”

‘A safe place to stay’

About 30 organizations across New Mexico intervene in the aftermath of domestic violence, offering everything from emergency shelters to crisis hotlines to violence prevention education. The services can be life-changing — not just for people escaping abuse by a partner but for children as well.

Ariana Harper, now 28, spent four months at S.A.F.E. House, an 85-bed domestic violence shelter in Albuquerque, when she was 11. Years after her family moved out, she returned to the organization while earning a sociology degree at the University of New Mexico.

She stayed at the shelter, starting as a volunteer and working her way up from advocate to case manager to training and volunteer manager.

“I don’t think people realize how valuable these resources are. … This is the only way that we were able to get to where we are today,” Harper said of her own family.

As a child, she said, she thought domestic violence was a normal part of romantic relationships. She remembers watching physical violence and coercive behavior play out between her mother and a series of abusive partners at her family’s home in Albuquerque.

That pattern changed one night, when the violence extended not just to her mother but to her sister as well. At that point, “I even think my mom knew, like, ‘This is not OK,’ ” Harper said.

She ran out of the house, braving the snow in her pajamas, and started knocking on neighbors’ doors until somebody finally called the police, scaring away the abuser.

Officers referred the family to S.A.F.E. House.

The family’s first night was frightening, Harper recalled. They tried to stay quiet while settling into a shared space in the middle of the night, with other shelter residents on the other side of a curtain.

After that, Harper said, it got better, as the family attended counseling sessions and field trips to ice skating rinks, movie theaters and the zoo.

“You would think it was a really depressing experience for us, but it was actually amazing,” she said. “We had so much support — probably the most support we ever had because my mom had case management, counseling. We had counseling. We even had a dog therapist on site.”

S.A.F.E. House is open to anyone fleeing intimate partner domestic violence, Executive Director Amy Kindrick said. About half of the shelter’s residents are children at any given time.

“The No. 1 thing we provide is a safe place to stay,” Kindrick said. “We do safety planning, case management. We provide all meals, snacks. [Everyone’s] needs are met while they’re here.”

But S.A.F.E. House — one of New Mexico’s biggest domestic violence shelters — feels the funding constraints. The shelter’s building, which is more than a century old, has endured years of deferred maintenance.

Kindrick said she’d love to have a child advocate on-site 24/7, but the organization can only afford to staff one for 40 hours per week.

Domestic violence affects everybody — and merits investment from everybody, Kindrick said.

“We’re going to do with what we have, and we’re going to do the best job we can. All nonprofits are going to do that. … But we shouldn’t have to,” she added.

Spending on services

Funding for domestic violence service providers can come from a variety of sources — local, state and federal governments, foundation contributions, local donations and U.S. Department of Justice programs to compensate victims of crime and curb violence against women.

Garcia, of the New Mexico Coalition Against Domestic Violence, said many New Mexico providers get 75% or more of their annual budgets from state and federal grants.

The New Mexico Crime Victims Reparation Commission, a state board that provides financial assistance and support for victims of violent crime, administers some state and federal funding for services, including money available through the federal Victims of Crime Act and the STOP Violence Against Women Act.

The commission received an extra $1 million for services in the state budget bill for fiscal year 2026, Director Frank Zubia wrote in an email to The New Mexican. That funding expired June 30, with no additional state appropriation made for the current year, he said.

CYFD “administers the majority of domestic violence funding and services in New Mexico,” Zubia wrote.

But funding from the long-troubled agency has remained relatively stagnant since fiscal year 2022, CYFD documents show.

Total state spending on domestic violence services hit a high of $21.6 million in fiscal year 2023, a $5.7 million increase over the year before, according to CYFD documents.

However, state spending then dropped to $19.9 million and $20 million in fiscal years 2024 and 2025, respectively.

In the last fiscal year, domestic violence allocations totaled $18.5 million, CYFD spokesperson Jake Thompson wrote in an email to The New Mexican. A little over $200,000 of that reverted back to the state’s coffers, after providers reported challenges hiring and retaining workers.

Meanwhile, state budget documents show CYFD expenditures have ballooned in recent years, despite systemic failures in keeping children safe in state custody. Lawmakers budgeted $305.5 million for CYFD in 2021. Earlier this year, they appropriated $411.8 million for the department for the current fiscal year.

CYFD plans to request additional resources for domestic violence survivor services in its funding request for fiscal year 2028, Thompson wrote.

“The department has worked with contracted providers to ensure that available funding is allocated through a competitive process that enables agencies providing these services to identify the needs in their respective communities,” he added.

‘Another lean year’

In practice, the inconsistent funding pattern will require providers to tell their staff this will be “another lean year,” Garcia said. That means cutting administrative staff, expanding workloads and opting not to fill vacant positions.

“We have folks who are in this movement because they believe in stopping intergenerational violence — because they’ve experienced it, because they’ve witnessed it, because they know the impact,” Garcia said. “And we don’t pay them salaries that are commensurate to the experience and expertise that they bring, to the humility that they bring, to the value that they bring to our communities.”

Providers didn’t receive additional funding from the state general fund during this year’s legislative session, despite pleas from the coalition. Garcia advocated for an extra $5 million, though that was far from the true need of about $15 million, she said. Neither sum made it into the final version of the state’s budget bill.

But that’s not to say lawmakers didn’t make any progress on the issue during their 2026 session. The state’s budget for fiscal year 2027 includes a series of small grants aimed at alleviating domestic violence in New Mexico, some specifically for shelters.

Legislators also passed Senate Memorial 22, which will convene a legislative work group to study domestic violence spending and recommend how much the state will have to spend to “fully fund” domestic violence services.

Garcia acknowledged resources for domestic violence services can be a hard sell, in part because of a stigma and also because such funding has to go through CYFD — an agency that has faced sharp criticism from state lawmakers and other officials.

CYFD’s struggles over many years “have impacted our ability to receive additional funding,” she said.

“Domestic violence is a conversation and a topic that continues to remain behind closed doors, and it’s really challenging to open that door and to speak vocally and loudly about the realities that survivors are experiencing,” she added.

But, Garcia said, “We as a state need our appropriators to say clearly that domestic violence services are not optional.”

‘Give them every cent’

In oil-rich Hobbs, Option Inc. feels the boom and bust cycle.

“The oil field is the industry out here, and we respect that,” Guthrie said. “I bet you respect it when you put gasoline in your car and it costs $4 or $5 a gallon.”

When The New Mexican visited Hobbs in late April, crude oil prices had surged to over $100 per barrel amid American and Israeli military operations in Iran. The high price brought a rush of workers to Lea County oil fields and a windfall for New Mexico, which derives much of its revenue from oil royalties and lease sales.

Domestic violence in the region tends to rise when oil prices approach either extreme, Guthrie said. When prices drop to $60 a barrel or below, families have trouble making ends meet, strain that can result in violence at home. Prices above $100 — and a relative abundance of cash to burn — can portend trouble in local households, too.

Option Inc. offers emergency shelter, food, clothing and transportation to help survivors leave abusive relationships. The organization operates a 24/7 crisis hotline and helps survivors exercise their legal options, including pursuing orders of protection from the courts.

Chief Deputy J.W. Grady with the Lea County Sheriff’s Office said the shelter is an “extreme help” to law enforcement. When officers respond to domestic violence calls — which can be “very volatile” situations resulting in charges ranging from a misdemeanor to homicide — Grady said they point to Option Inc. as a major resource for survivors.

“They’re one of the answers that we give when we’re on these scenes: This is how we can help. This is how we can help remove you from this situation,” he said.

Grady added, “You need to give them every cent you got.”

But Option Inc.’s programs aren’t just for survivors. The organization also offers violence prevention programs and operates what’s called a batterer’s intervention program, designed to educate offenders and identify the triggers that brought on their abuse. Just 7% of the 120 people who participated in the program in 2025 have gone on to reoffend, according to data from the organization.

Option Inc. reported total revenues of $771,771 and total expenses of $680,795 in 2024, according to tax documents available from nonprofit news organization ProPublica’s Nonprofit Explorer. The organization received the vast majority of its revenue that year from government grants.

“I’m not here for the money, obviously,” said David Herman, a life skills facilitator at Option Inc. who works with survivors and offenders.

He meets with clients in his office, amid an eclectic hodgepodge of motivational quotes and low-volume classical music.

After nine years at the shelter, Herman said he has developed his own ritual to ensure he’s ready to help Option Inc.’s clients: He goes outside. He prays. When he comes back in, his focus has to remain on the person on the other side of his desk. A sticky note — “Listen to understand,” it says — occupies the spot right behind the chair reserved for clients as a reminder.

The work offers a kind of fulfillment that he wouldn’t get in most other jobs, Herman said.

“This is a place of healing,” he said. “For some reason, I have the heart and mind to help.”

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