The first thing you should do when you are experiencing a crisis, Ray Lopez said, is ask for help.

Solace Crisis Treatment Center is doing just that, according to Lopez, president of the board of trustees at the nonprofit social-services center on the south side of town.

Solace — which offers free counseling services to victims of trauma, violence and rape — is undergoing both an identity crisis and financial challenges in the wake of a name change, a transition in directors and the effects of the economic recession.

Founded as the Rape Crisis Center in 1973, the organization chose to change its name last autumn in an effort to expand its mission to treat all victims of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Last month, Executive Director Diana McWilliams — who succeeded long-term director Barbara Goldman early in 2009 — resigned to take a job with the state.

In addition, the center is dealing with a deficit of about $100,000 and contending with a cutback in staff (from 23 to 12 in the past two and a half years) and an increase in clients.

Since its name and mission change, Lopez said, Solace has seen a 70 percent jump in clients, with about 500 people coming through its doors in the past fiscal year.

Clients may remain anonymous, if they wish. The clinic sees not just victims of sexual violence and abuse, but also people who have suffered from accidents, people who have experienced natural disasters, as well as medical, personal and financial crises, and people who have served in combat.

"In the old days, our mission was very clearly focused," said Richard Ransley, Solace's clinical manager. "Our new mission is struggling to deal with the consequences of all sorts of traumatic events and educate the public that these problems are treatable."

The center offers hope for those suffering from PTSD, Ransley said. "There is a common misunderstanding that a diagnosis of PTSD means you are disabled and unable to recover. That is not true.

"Most people are resilient in the face of adversity, and even those who do develop symptoms of PTSD can usually overcome those symptoms in less than 16 sessions."

Solace's leaders say the organization is unique in its multifaceted approach to PTSD. It offers the equivalent of a one-stop resource where victims can connect with therapists, nurses and police officers in a warm, welcoming environment.

"From my perspective, Solace is a leading organization for the type of services that it performs," said Terrie Rodriguez, director of the city of Santa Fe's Youth and Family Services Division.

"Santa Fe is almost too small to have other organizations duplicating their services. Some are similar — Esperanza (Shelter for Battered Families) comes to mind — but Solace has tried to expand its services beyond sexual trauma to other trauma," Rodriguez added.

Robert Vasquez, a Santa Fe Police Department sergeant and supervisor for the department's Crimes Against Children Unit, said, "Solace is very unique when it comes to dealing with traumatic sexual assault. They are the only ones we can go to who assist us with forensic interviews and sexual-assault examinations."

But this success can only be attained with strong financial support and an experienced professional staff. Lopez acknowledges that the center has not done a good job of publicizing its efforts or explaining the reasons behind the name and mission change. Likewise, Solace's leaders admit they have not maintained strong ties to long-term donors.

Lopez and several other Solace employees and former employees (including interim Director Maria José Rodriguez-Cádiz, who has worked at the clinic for nine years) said Goldman was a dynamic personality who was an expert at raising funds.

"She was the face of the Rape Crisis Center for years," Lopez said.

Goldman had a personal touch that worked well with personal donors, and she would often mount 10 or 12 fundraising events every year, he said.

McWilliams focused more on building grant support from city, state and federal foundations, Solace insiders said. That support dwindled in the face of the recession, according to Lopez — from about $250,000 per year to less than $50,000 a year.

The organization's 2010 Internal Revenue Service Form 990 (the form filed by organizations exempt from federal taxes) notes that Solace's expenditures for that fiscal year exceeded revenue by about $112,000. Solace's annual budget is about $900,000, Lopez said, with the biggest share going to salaries (McWilliams was earning just over $72,000, according to the Form 990.)

Speaking by phone, Goldman — who now works as the statewide coordinator for an anti-human trafficking initiative with the Attorney General's Office — said that when she left the organization shortly after the recession of 2008 began, she knew "the writing was really large on the wall" regarding fundraising challenges.

She said she always saw the center as a place where anyone could visit to seek help for any kind of trauma. Of the organization's 2010 name change, she said, "Change is good — generally speaking — but it was a big risk in these hard economic times."

McWilliams — who just took on the job of deputy CEO for the New Mexico Behavioral Health Collaborative — said Solace was already experiencing financial challenges at the time of her arrival.

"They were losing foundation moneys," she said by phone, recalling a $160,000 grant that got away about the time she started. "It's not that the foundations were not funding anymore, but where they were once able to give $10,000 or $15,000, their contributions were going down to $1,000 to $2,000, which was a reflection of the national level."

Former Solace treasurer and board member Jeff Miles concurs with that explanation. "Over the period of time Barbara was there, we had good reserves and good foundation money, but in the last year of Barbara's tenure, the foundation money began to slow down."

The center's roughly $1.1 million budget got cut back to about $1 million, and then to the $900,000 range, he said. At one point, Solace began using unrestricted reserve dollars to get through the year, he said.

The name and mission change that occurred last year "did throw some personal donors," McWilliams said. "Obviously a lot of rape crisis centers were founded on women's issues and served as advocates for women's rights. I don't want to diminish that. On the other hand, in this current day and time, those social services should reflect the needs of the community. I think the center's service model is very indicative of the needs in this community.

"Has that been communicated well to personal donors? Probably not. But in terms of the folks who need services? Our numbers actually went up."

Lonnica Montoya has been a Solace client for years. With the center's help, she has been able to address — and speak about — the sexual molestation and rape perpetrated against her when she was a child and teenager.

She once felt like a "broken person." Today, nearing 50, she feels she has been given a new lease on life by Solace. "I believe the name change has affected it, but it's also a good thing because we need to really encompass what trauma is on a far-reaching level beyond rape," she said.

Still, she understands how some people might see the name/mission change as something akin to identity theft.

Solace is not about to give up, Lopez and Rodriguez-Cádiz said. Its leaders are reaching out to former directors —including Goldman — and donors to rebuild personal connections. A current fundraising plan includes an appeal for a modest contribution of $83.33 from individual donors. That amount pays for an hour of Solace services. Solace is also seeking volunteers for both the office and for hotline advocates.

Lopez said the board and staff are working on contingency plans to save money — including cutting the workforce back to a 35-hour week.

If Solace's financial problems force it to close, Montoya said, "We are going to lose a lot of healing potential in the community."

Contact Robert Nott at 986-3021 or rnott@sfnewmexican.com.