A growing number of states are making an equal split between parents the default child custody option in divorce cases.

Louisiana and Mississippi this year joined at least five other states that have adopted the so-called 50-50 standard — four of them since 2021, as more legislators rework divorce-related laws that remained mostly unchanged for years.

The 50-50 custody issue does not break down cleanly along partisan lines: The Mississippi bill was sponsored by Republicans, the Louisiana legislation by Democrats. Both states’ laws explicitly codify a custody guideline that many courts in other states follow.

Supporters say a formal 50-50 custody standard makes divorce proceedings more equitable for fathers — who historically have been awarded less custody time than mothers — and encourages them to maintain an active role in their children’s lives.

And it can reduce friction between separating parents by signaling they’re both starting the custody process on an equal playing field, said Don Hubin, board chair of the National Parents Organization, an advocacy group that has pushed for more states to adopt legal presumptions of shared parenting.

Without that presumption, Hubin said, one or both parents may feel like they have to paint each other in a bad light in order to ‘win’ more time with their children.

“It’s not just about the practice of shared parenting, but about the law signaling to parents that this is going to be the outcome unless something special is going on in your case,” he said. “It reduces the anxiety of the parents, which reduces the conflict between the parents.”

But critics say the standard might harm vulnerable women and children by making it more likely that children must spend time with a parent who isn’t safe. They fear that for women in abusive marriages, the knowledge they would have to cede 50% of their child’s time to an unsafe parent could push them to remain in a marriage just to protect their children.

Kimberly Rummage, who lives in Kentucky, calls her state’s 50-50 custody standard “absolutely diabolical.” She’s had a lengthy battle in court with her ex-husband over custody of their child.

“I think that parents should have to prove why they get that 50-50,” she said. “You should have to show what you’ve done in that child’s life, what you know about that child, how you’ve participated and supported that child.”

Some critics also argue that the 50-50 standard doesn’t account for the needs of children at different ages. Mississippi state Rep. Dana McLean, a Republican, warned her colleagues the state’s new law could harm breastfeeding infants who need to spend most of their time with their mothers during their first months of life.

Mississippi’s new law requires family courts to use equally-shared parenting time as the default in custody cases. Parents seeking more time must present evidence showing why a 50-50 split isn’t in their child’s best interest. It also changes how child support is calculated: The new formula for 50-50 custody can lower child support payments for the parent with the lower income.

Louisiana’s new law says child custody “shall” be divided equally, rather than “should,” which was the language under the previous law.

In both states, as in others that have adopted the 50-50 standard, a judge can override the rule if the court finds credible evidence for awarding more time to one parent.

But in Mississippi, several judges spoke against the bill before it passed, saying the old system — in which custody was awarded on a case-by-case basis using a specific set of factors — was the most fair.

At least five other states have similar laws, and all were approved with bipartisan support: Kentucky (2018), Arkansas (2021), West Virginia (2022), Florida (2023) and Missouri (2023).

Effects on divorce rates

Proponents of 50-50 laws say one positive side effect is that they could save some marriages. In Kentucky, the state’s divorce rate dropped 25% between 2016 and 2023, compared with an 18% decline nationwide.

But Krista Westrick-Payne, one of the researchers who studied the rates, told Stateline it’s impossible to tie Kentucky’s drop directly to the state’s 2018 50-50 custody law because too many other factors in that timeframe influenced it.

“There’s no one cause, no one single driver for these rates,” said Westrick-Payne, who is the assistant director of the National Center for Family & Marriage Research at Bowling Green State University in Kentucky.

The data shows that factors like state laws or local economic conditions tend to have a minimal effect on whether a couple divorces, she said.

“The more significant things that affect whether or not a couple decides to divorce have much more to do with their relationship and their personal situation.”

Westrick-Payne said she believes divorce and custody-related law should be crafted with the effects on individuals and families in mind, rather than as a way to affect widescale, population-level changes.

“When it comes to something like divorce, something that’s so personal, I think the focus needs to be more on the individuals going through it,” she said, “as opposed to some big policy to affect just whether somebody divorces or not.”

A growing effort

Hubin expects to see more states moving to codify the equal custody presumption in their laws in the coming years, as parenting norms change and more households become dual income. Fathers have taken on more caregiving responsibilities than a generation ago, he said.

“Fathers who’ve been involved with their kids, they’re not happy with being consigned to an ‘every other weekend’ visitor in their kids’ lives,” he said.

Nationally, mothers of children under 6 spend about seven and a half hours a day with their children, compared to a little over five hours for fathers, according to the latest available data from the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. The time gap shrinks as kids get older: Mothers spend 3.8 hours a day with their teens and fathers spend about 3 hours.

Earlier this year, a 50-50 custody bill in Oklahoma, sponsored by both Republicans and Democrats, sailed through the House but died on the Senate floor. Similar bills have been proposed in Alabama, Idaho, Indiana and North Carolina.

Stateline reporter Anna Claire Vollers can be reached at avollers@stateline.org.

Cerina Fairfax, a Virginia dentist and mother of two, spent nearly two years living in the same house as her husband while she was trying to divorce him.

Virginia state law required couples with children, like the Fairfaxes, to wait a year before being allowed to file for divorce. Cerina’s husband, former Virginia Lt. Gov. Justin Fairfax, had also tried different legal tactics to prolong the process.

In March of this year, a judge granted Cerina sole custody of their children and ordered Justin to move out.

A few weeks later, with just days left before his move-out deadline, Justin fatally shot Cerina and then himself, police say, while their two teens were also in the house.

The tragedy focused national attention on state divorce laws, which have remained mostly static since 2010, when New York became the last state to allow no-fault divorce. In the years since, most of the states that have tweaked their divorce laws have made it easier, not harder, to get one. Virginia, for example, relaxed some of its requirements just days before Cerina Fairfax’s death.

Now that could be changing.

In recent years, more conservatives have turned to divorce as a “family values” talking point, with some pushing to make it harder for couples to divorce. By doing so, they’ve relaunched a national conversation that would have been nearly unthinkable just a few years ago.

In 1969, California became the first state to allow no-fault divorce, which allows one member of a couple to file for divorce without proving that the other person engaged in wrongdoing such as adultery, abuse or abandonment. No-fault divorce emerged from the women’s rights movement of that era, promising women greater freedom to escape from unhappy or abusive marriages.

But the loss of that freedom suddenly seems more plausible, particularly for those whose confidence in federal protections for women’s rights was shattered after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned the constitutional right to abortion in 2022. And as state lawmakers ramp up restrictions around birth control, fertility treatments and pregnancy loss, new limits on divorce seem less far-fetched.

“What’s different now is that it’s actually gaining some traction,” said Marcia Zug, a family law professor at the University of South Carolina School of Law whose work focuses on the legal history of marriage. “Simply the idea that we’re talking about it seriously, that it’s part of some Republican party platforms, that it’s not just laughed out of the room.

“Even if we’re not anywhere near eliminating it, that is the major change.”

Earlier this year, for example, an Iowa Senate subcommittee approved a bill that would allow couples to opt out of no-fault divorce when they’re registering for marriage licenses.

“In the last generation, we have seen the chaos of — the circus of — pure no-fault divorce, (and) the ugliness of divorce and the breakdown of marriage,” Iowa state Sen. Jesse Green, a Republican, told his colleagues during a February hearing on his bill, which later died in committee.

“A lot of people are not getting married anymore because maybe, in some cases, they feel the lack of support and accountability with our law,” he said.

Oklahoma bill would end incompatibility as grounds for divorce

In Texas and Nebraska, the official state GOP platforms call for ending or limiting no-fault divorce. Other state Republican parties, such as in Louisiana, have considered similar party planks.

Republican lawmakers in states including South Carolina and South Dakota have filed bills to limit no-fault divorce or make the process harder.

Oklahoma state Sen. Dusty Deevers, a Republican and pastor, filed a bill in 2024 to abolish no-fault divorce, after saying he wanted to see public shaming for those who cause divorce.

At the same time, some prominent social media influencers have been using their platforms to call for streamlining divorce laws.

Hadley Vlahos, a Mississippi registered nurse with 2.2 million followers on TikTok, used her platform this summer to talk about her three-year-long divorce, which included an 11-day trial and hundreds of court filings. She has called for changes to Mississippi’s divorce law, one of only two in the country that doesn’t allow a no-fault divorce if one spouse objects. Her petition to change state law has more than 30,000 signatures.

Jen Hamilton, a nurse and content creator North Carolina who has 7.2 million followers across TikTok and Instagram as well as a bestselling book, called for changes to the divorce laws in her state after separating from her husband.

She recently appeared at a fundraiser with North Carolina state Sen. Woodson Bradley, a Democrat who co-sponsored a bill that would shorten the required separation period before divorce in certain circumstances. That bill remains in committee.

Hamilton’s goal, she told her followers, “is to do everything that I can to get North Carolina law changed to protect women — and some men — from these archaic, paternalistic laws that keep people trapped in marriages that are either unhealthy or dangerous.”

A paradox

Divorce has been declining in the U.S. for more than 40 years.

Four of the five states with the highest divorce rates — Oklahoma, Nevada, Mississippi, Wyoming and Alabama, as of the most recently available data — are Republican led; Nevada has a Republican governor but a Democratic-controlled state legislature.

But state laws aren’t an effective way to raise or lower the number of divorces, said Krista Westrick-Payne, a marriage and divorce researcher and assistant director at the National Center for Family & Marriage Research at Bowling Green State University.

“The more significant things that affect whether or not a couple decides to divorce has much more to do with their relationship and their personal situation,” Westrick-Payne said.

Religious areas tend to see higher divorce rates, according to her research. So do areas that are more politically conservative.

“That feels like a paradox,” she said. But those areas generally see more people marrying at younger ages — one of the biggest predictors of divorce.

“So it’s not to say religious people are divorce prone; it’s just they have all these other risk factors, and underlying population dynamics that affect this.

“People like to get on social media and make these overarching statements, flattening a very complex issue,” she said. “And I don’t think that serves anyone very well.”

The most dangerous time

The Iowa proposal to allow couples to opt out of no-fault divorce faced strong opposition from domestic violence advocates, who said such laws especially burden people fleeing domestic violence — who are overwhelmingly women — and can leave them stuck in a dangerous marriage while they try to prove to a court that they’re being abused.

“For someone experiencing domestic violence, leaving is already incredibly complicated, and for a lot of survivors, it is the most dangerous time,” said Lindsay Pingel, director of community engagement at the Iowa Coalition Against Domestic Violence, which represents 25 victim service provider organizations across the state.

Then-California Gov. Ronald Reagan, himself divorced, signed the law that made his state the first to allow no-fault divorce. Prior to that, a person trying to divorce had to prove in court that his or her spouse did something wrong. But such things are difficult to prove in court, and subject to a judge’s interpretation.

“We know that domestic violence doesn’t always come with the kind of documentation that someone who’s never experienced an unhealthy relationship might expect,” Pingel said. “There might not be a police report, or medical records, photographs or witnesses.”

Most survivors of domestic violence don’t talk about it with others until they’ve decided to leave, she said. And many don’t feel safe involving authorities in a situation that could make it more dangerous.

“We have to stop asking why survivors continue to stay in unhealthy relationships when we continue to put barriers in place that prohibit them from leaving.”

Cerina and Justin Fairfax tragedy underscores new Va. laws that could help prevent similar violence

Women who talked to Stateline about their divorces described years-long court battles with convoluted rules, fraught custody arrangements and uneven protections in cases of abuse.

Some states require months- or years-long waiting periods where a couple must be separated before they can file for divorce. At least three states — Arkansas, Arizona and Louisiana — allow so-called “covenant marriage,” a legally binding agreement that comes with additional requirements and is harder to end through divorce. Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson, who is from Louisiana, is in a covenant marriage with wife Kelly.

Recently, some states have made it easier for couples to divorce. Maryland, for example, moved to a purely no-fault divorce process in 2023.

Virginia’s new divorce law includes some narrow changes, including an option for speeding up the divorce process. It also created a legislative work group to study whether the state should eliminate fault-based divorce entirely.

And in Missouri, Republican Gov. Mike Kehoe in April signed a new law clarifying that pregnancy can’t prevent a divorce from being finalized.

Pingel, of the Iowa domestic violence coalition, said supporting healthy marriages and protecting vulnerable people from dangerous marriages aren’t competing goals.

“Children benefit from safety and stability,” she said. “and keeping someone legally tied to a person who is causing harm doesn’t necessarily create a healthier family.”

Stateline reporter Anna Claire Vollers can be reached at avollers@stateline.org.

Reading Time: 13 minutes

Editor’s note: This story contains topics of domestic violence and abuse.

When Kimberly Johnson mustered the courage to leave her abuser, she hoped the Christine Ann shelter in Winnebago County would be a refuge.

Johnson said she didn’t leave her abuser when he went to prison for beating her, or when she got evicted because of the damage he and his friends caused to her home. It took her years to get away, and when she did, there was only one place she thought to go. 

What she didn’t expect was to be turned away.

Johnson is one of several domestic abuse survivors who, after what they describe as bad experiences with the Oshkosh shelter, left negative online reviews. Their stories raise questions about where survivors can turn when a shelter of last resort shuts them out. 

Christine Ann Domestic Abuse Services Incorporated, or CADASI for short, has long stood as a community pillar for domestic violence victims in Winnebago County. 

The center was founded in 1984 and renamed in 1991 after Christine Ann Schambow, who was murdered by her husband. That same year it moved to Algoma Boulevard near its current location a few blocks from the Fox River. In 2024, the shelter relocated again to a new 64-bed facility that provides legal and mental health services and up to two years of housing support.

When Johnson first arrived in 2024, she was assigned to an apartment with other women. She found a job as a cook at UW-Oshkosh and began to gain back some of her confidence.

But three days after she started working, she received a week’s notice to vacate. 

Johnson asked her counselor if she could stay until she received her first paycheck because she had nowhere to go. She recalled being told, “Well, we’re not a homeless shelter, (and) we feel that’s why you’re here, because you’re homeless.”

About two days later, after Johnson had asked her counselor how to file a grievance and discussed the situation with her roommate, who was also being kicked out, she heard a knock at her door. Her counselor, another shelter employee and two police officers were there.

Johnson said they accused her of threatening to “beat up” a CADASI staff member and told her she had 10 minutes to pack all her things before they would be removed.

Johnson recalled spending several days sleeping outside the Salvation Army in the freezing cold, before eventually being accepted into a homeless shelter. She said if she had not gotten into that shelter when she did, she would have gone back to her abuser.

Wisconsin Watch spoke with several former CADASI clients and domestic abuse survivors who reported being turned away, along with statewide advocates and government officials, about accountability for domestic violence agencies serving survivors’ needs. 

CADASI Executive Director Carly Hirsch said in an email that the organization is unable to respond to questions from Wisconsin Watch, but wrote in a statement that CADASI is “committed to empowering individuals and families, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, gender identity, sexual orientation, or ability … by providing education, promoting safety, and offering compassionate support (while) always honoring the confidentiality of those we serve.” 

Former clients speak out

On websites like Charity Navigator and Indeed, CADASI’s shelter has overwhelmingly positive reviews for financial openness and working conditions. 

But out of the 62 service reviews for the shelter on Google, 17 are negative, and those reviews have overwhelmingly more likes than the positive ones. CADASI’s corporate office, which is listed separately online from the shelter, has only one review, which is negative. 

Wisconsin Watch confirmed the negative reviews with names attached were all from real people located in or near Winnebago County at the time. Among CADASI’s online reviews, three other women said the organization had kicked them out.

Jennifer, a single mother of three, said she sought support from CADASI sometime between 2011 and 2015 for an emotionally, financially and sexually abusive relationship. Jennifer, who wished to be identified by her first name, was often living in her car at the time.

She initially found the center’s programming to be helpful. She took a choice and consequences class with a former advocate whom she described as “awesome.”

“She would help me out when I was kicked out and didn’t have a job, but my kids needed something like a Halloween costume. She’d give me gift cards,” Jennifer recalled.

After that advocate left the center, however, Jennifer said things took a drastic turn. She got into an argument with her abuser, who told her he had contacted a legal advocate at the shelter. CADASI then abruptly canceled her services, refusing to speak with her or provide alternative resources because staff claimed a conflict of interest.

“Christine Ann has the right to decide who they can allow services or what a conflict of interest is,” she recalled the advocate telling her after repeated phone calls asking for an explanation. 

Multiple sources said CADASI used the phrase “conflict of interest” when refusing or withdrawing services, though it does not openly define this term. The nonprofit organization’s GuideStar profile says it has a conflict-of-interest policy, but it’s not publicly available on its website.

The United States Office for Victims of Crime says that “when a conflict arises between a victim’s interests and those of the victim assistance provider or program, the provider should verbally disclose the situation to the victim, refer the victim to an alternate provider, and/or consult a professional regarding appropriate resolution of the conflict.”

The experience ended up following Jennifer, who went back to her abuser. When she attempted to leave him again, she said Harbor House in Appleton, a CADASI partner, refused to serve her. 

She also said when she was hired for a job at Garage for Good in Neenah — a low-cost auto repair garage opened by CADASI and Harbor House for domestic abuse survivors that closed in 2020 — the job offer was rescinded the morning she was supposed to start working.

“Not only would they not help me, but now I can’t even have a job,” Jennifer said. “I finally got a job, and it was going to be good and I’ll make decent money so I’d be able to support myself, and I don’t have to go back. … And then the rug was just pulled out from under me.”

Jennifer didn’t talk to anyone about her experience with CADASI for a long time because she thought “no one cared.”

“The worst part about that was then when I left (my abuser) finally, permanently, I needed help, and I knew I couldn’t go to the Christine Ann center,” Jennifer said. 

Rejected survivors

CADASI is transparent about its inability to help all survivors in its community due to limited space — a nationwide problem as domestic violence shelters face funding cuts and uncertain futures. 

Advocates with Wise Women Gathering Place, a Green Bay nonprofit that provides culturally specific services to Native American victims of violence, told Wisconsin Watch that dozens of their clients have been turned away or abruptly kicked out of shelters across the state, particularly in the last few years. 

CADASI’s website notes that before the shelter moved and expanded from 37 to 64 beds in 2024, it turned away about 50 survivors annually for capacity reasons. But Johnson questioned that claim, saying her unit had five empty beds prior to her eviction. She said she saw two empty apartments on her floor and empty apartments throughout the third floor. 

Donna Prost said she was fleeing abuse and living in her car when CADASI turned her away in 2021. She said the shelter appeared mostly empty each time she visited, even though staff told her there was no room for her. 

CADASI declined Wisconsin Watch’s request for data on its occupancy rates, citing “the safety and confidentiality of (its) current and former clients,” though the shelter reports biannual point in time occupancy numbers to Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care, which tracks homelessness.

Data from 2014 to 2025 shows CADASI has rarely been near capacity during the two nights each year the homeless advocacy organization recorded its occupancy rates. In half of the counts, occupancy rates were less than 50%, dipping as low as 13.5% in July 2022. The shelter has not exceeded 100% capacity during the counts since 2014.

A Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care spokesperson told Wisconsin Watch a shelter might not appear full if it houses a family in a single unit with more beds than there are family members.

CADASI’s 2024 tax form, known as a 990, says the shelter provides families with private rooms, while single adults of the same gender may share rooms. The form also says the shelter does not limit how long clients can stay, though its website says housing is offered for up to two years.

Organization leaders did not respond to requests for clarification about the homeless counts and their bed capacity. 

After being turned away from CADASI, Prost returned to her abuser. “I had nowhere to go. I was selling my home at the time (and) ended up backing out of that,” she said.

She approached CADASI again in 2023 for help filing a restraining order due to an escalation in the abuse. She said CADASI was ultimately unhelpful — despite Winnebago County instructing people to contact CADASI for help with restraining orders. Prost ultimately completed her restraining order with help from the local library.

“I would probably have been killed somewhere along the line (without it),” Prost said. “I wouldn’t say (CADASI) was mean or anything like that … but both times they just didn’t want to be bothered.”

Carl, a 40-year-old Wisconsin military veteran who asked to be identified by his middle name because he feared retribution and wanted to protect his coparenting relationship, said a social worker friend encouraged him to call CADASI in 2018 for therapy resources after he showed her a video of his ex-wife verbally abusing him. He was hesitant to do so, half-convinced that he just had a “crazy ex.”

When he called the organization’s 24-hour helpline, Carl said it took time to convince the advocate on the other end that he wasn’t an abusive husband seeking help to stop abusing. Instead, he said, he wanted someone with whom to talk through his experiences. 

“I finally made her realize that, in my mind, I was a victim, and the response that I got will stick with me forever. She laughed,” he recalled. “She laughed at me and said that this was a women’s shelter. That they existed to protect women from people like me. (She said) men are not victims, and that I should just go check out the homeless shelter or something.”

Carl’s account was echoed by an anonymous online reviewer who said he filed a complaint with the shelter. 

The man said staff told him by phone he could stay after his girlfriend was arrested for domestic violence, but staff turned him away when he arrived because his presence would be a “conflict of interest” and that “women felt scared having a male stay there.” 

Studies show as many as 32% of Wisconsin men experience intimate partner violence, rape or stalking. CADASI’s websites and brochures say it serves “people of all backgrounds, genders, ages, ethnicities, sexual orientations, and abilities.”

CADASI receives annual government funding from the Wisconsin Department of Children and Families (DCF), the state Department of Justice (DOJ), Winnebago County Health and Human Services, the cities of Oshkosh and Neenah’s Community Development Block Grants and FEMA-EFSP. State law prohibits organizations that receive state funding from discriminating. 

Oversight and redress 

Some of the concerns raised about CADASI relate to a lack of transparency surrounding grievance and nondiscrimination procedures for clients. 

CADASI’s website says it encourages clients to report discrimination “promptly” after it occurs. According to GuideStar, a clearinghouse for nonprofit information, the organization “aim(s) to collect feedback from as many people (they) serve as possible” and makes additional efforts to collect feedback from “marginalized or under-represented people.”

The profile also says the organization has difficulty getting people to respond to requests for feedback because it lacks technology to “collect and aggregate feedback efficiently.” It says CADASI staff “find it hard to prioritize feedback collection and review due to lack of time.”

CADASI does not specify what its procedure is for collecting feedback, nor for addressing discrimination complaints or client grievances. CADASI declined to comment when asked by Wisconsin Watch.

Johnson said that when she asked an advocate how to file a grievance report two days before being kicked out, the advocate refused to explain the process. She still wants to officially report her shelter experience, but like many survivors in similar circumstances, has “no clue” where or how to do so. 

A Wisconsin DCF spokesperson told Wisconsin Watch that domestic violence agencies receiving DCF grant funds are contractually obligated to have a grievance process for staff and clients. If a client has completed the program’s complaint/grievance process and does not feel that the complaint has been resolved, the person can submit a complaint to DCF’s general complaint form. DCF lacks a complaint process or records database specific to domestic violence shelters.

Should DCF identify “instances of concern or non-compliance” with grant requirements for a shelter, DCF said the program agency must “take immediate corrective action” or work with DCF on a Corrective Action Plan in serious cases. If the shelter doesn’t comply with the plan requirements, DCF said it may terminate the grant agreement.

Responding to a Wisconsin Watch records request, DCF said it received a complaint about CADASI in 2019. The complainant accused the organization of sharing her address with her abuser, denying her shelter due to medical needs and not preparing her for her court hearing or helping her with transportation.

Currently, all DCF-funded shelters must provide temporary housing and food, educational arrangements for school-age children, emergency transportation, a 24-hour crisis line and an intake process for clients.

In response to the complaint, a DCF spokesperson said the agency had a conversation with CADASI and shared the results of the conversation with the complainant. The agency was “satisfied” with the outcome of the conversations, the spokesperson said without providing more detail.

End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin, a statewide coalition that works to “educate shelter and program volunteers and advocates, law enforcement, legislators, and community members to provide safety and support to survivors,” also has a multistep process for approaching grievances, communications director Elise Buchbinder told Wisconsin Watch.

When a client or survivor reaches out to End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin about a negative experience with a local agency, the coalition first tries to address the issue on a program level. The coalition may contact the agency informally to inquire about any problems, offer gaps in support and work alongside the agency to address survivor concerns.

The second step, Buchbinder said, is to bring the problem to the organization’s board members. The board is typically responsible for developing the policy, procedures and regulations of an agency, evaluating its programs’ performance and addressing client complaints.

Two former CADASI board members declined to comment for this story, and others did not respond to requests from Wisconsin Watch. 

Finally, if End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin receives many complaints about a shelter or agency, or if it is unable to address disputes locally, the coalition would contact the program’s funders and grant managers — including the DCF — as well as elected officials and the media. 

Buchbinder declined to comment on whether End Domestic Abuse has received complaints about CADASI.

The final option for survivors seeking redress is to contact the Wisconsin Department of Justice (DOJ), though its oversight also applies only to the shelters it funds, and even then is “limited” and “not regulatory” in nature.

When the DOJ receives a complaint about a domestic violence shelter, it first decides whether the complaint “relates to the terms and conditions of (its) grant” for that shelter. If it doesn’t, the DOJ either forwards it to an outside agency or returns it to the complainant.

“The DOJ generally does not have the authority to act on complaints regarding conduct that is not contemplated by the terms and conditions of the domestic violence shelter’s DOJ-administered grant program,” the agency said.

Discrimination complaints, for example, must be handled by the U.S. Department of Justice, but the Wisconsin DOJ typically assists complainants in submissions. 

When the DOJ finds that a grant recipient violated program conditions, it will typically work with the shelter or affiliated statewide coalitions to “achieve compliance,” sometimes attaching special conditions to grants or reviewing and revising the shelter’s policies.

In severe cases, the DOJ says it may reject future funding requests from the organization.

Some advocates argue that there is too little oversight or accountability for domestic violence agencies across the state. Shelters across Wisconsin, particularly in Winnebago County and the Fox Valley, have accumulated negative online reviews over the years.

Wise Women Gathering Place advocate and Oneida Nation member Julia McLester said many clients have faced discrimination from domestic violence agencies, including in Winnebago County. Advocates have called the police on clients and referred them to psychiatrists for practicing cultural rituals, discouraging some survivors from working with non-Native advocates altogether.

Nationally, more than half (55%) of Native women have experienced physical violence from an intimate partner. 

McLester has worked with the Wisconsin Coalition Against Sexual Assault to create a racial inclusion checklist for domestic violence agencies, but the idea hasn’t gained traction.

“Mainstream agencies need to be learning and growing and being accountable to how they provide training, trauma-informed care training, diversity, equity, inclusion skills, and accountability, how to check our own implicit biases so that it’s not creating harm to people coming in the door,” McLester said.

The aftermath of abuse

Buchbinder attributes the struggles many survivors are facing with Wisconsin shelters and coalitions to a systemic lack of resources for the survivors and agencies, rather than any ill will by the organizations.

“Our communities will continue seeing individual cases of escalated crises at the local program level due to an overarching lack of survivors’ needs being met,” Buchbinder said. “When an advocate is forced to say ‘no’ to (survivors’) basic needs due to lack of adequate resourcing, further escalation of crisis is too often a tragic outcome.”

Wise Women Gathering Place communications person Brenda John, who is also a member of Oneida Nation, echoed that statement. “The people who work in these settings, they care about victims … their resources are stretched thin as well, so they’re doing the best they can with what they have.” 

Nevertheless, they emphasized that institutional and societal responses to domestic abuse victims can inflict long-term trauma, such as feelings of shame and embarrassment that discourage survivors from seeking services. 

Following her eviction from CADASI, Johnson said she lived in a motel before being forced to live in her car. Now 56 and living with her mother, she struggles to find employment and lacks many of the resources needed to pursue her dream of attending college. 

“They were supposed to do everything they said in their ads,” Johnson said. “At that point I’m telling myself I am so broken, I don’t even know where to begin. And I need guidance, and I need help, and I’ve always been the type of person I will never ask anybody for anything. … I will not beg, you know? And that’s how they made me feel, like I had to beg for it.”

Jennifer said she felt like CADASI “slapped me in the face and victim-shamed me” and was “destroyed” for years after her experience. She remembers weeping in her aunt’s backyard when she was moving herself and three children into her aunt’s two-bedroom apartment. She called the suicide crisis hotline “too many times to count.” 

Though she managed to get a restraining order against her husband, Prost said that being turned away from CADASI made her life extremely stressful. The worry and fear keep her awake at night, even after her husband died in January 2025.

Carl said his CADASI experience was “shattering on a level (he) didn’t quite understand and wasn’t prepared to deal with.” Like Jennifer, he continues to coparent with his abuser without guidance.

Carl said a friend wanted him to go on a “warpath” against the shelter after hearing about his experience. But he advised against it. Carl doesn’t want the scrutiny and doubts anybody will believe him.

“Who are people going to believe?” he asked. “This one dude, or this shelter organization that has been active in the Fox Valley for who knows how long?” 

Still, many of the people Wisconsin Watch spoke with are healing after saving themselves from their circumstances when no one else would. 

They have gone to therapy, found jobs helping others and focused on building better lives for their children. By speaking up, they hope to raise awareness about how society treats abuse survivors and draw attention to the need for more empathy and transparency in the institutions that are supposed to help.

“I still have this dream in my head that I want to start my own shelter, get my own nationwide domestic abuse shelter going and not do this to women,” Johnson said. “It’s my life and my livelihood. How could you just disregard me like I’m less than a dog?”

Editor’s note: This story corrects the name of the local college in Oshkosh where Johnson worked as a cook.

An Oshkosh domestic abuse shelter has been panned online. Survivors describe what they experienced. is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.