Home Alive—the self-defense education group founded 16 years ago in response to the rape and murder of Mia Zapata—is $25,000 in debt. Self-defense classes will cease, and employees, who haven’t been paid in months, will lock the doors of the Capitol Hill offices at the end of the month.

“I knew we were a scrappy organization and I embraced it,” says Cait Alexander, who started as the nonprofit’s interim program director at the beginning of January. “But I was not prepared for the severe financial crises that we're in.”

“There was no planned income, and I knew I wouldn’t get paid for the foreseeable future. And nobody from the board had talked to me about it,” Alexander says. So along with the board of directors, she made the call to cease operation—at least temporarily—and call a community meeting this Sunday to try and salvage the group.

So where did Home Alive go wrong?

The organization would pay bills and accept money, Alexander says, without accounting to make sure that the expenses balanced with income. “People love to throw fundraising events for us. But a lot times, we don’t even know it’s happening and a check will just show up. Income like that should be icing on the cake but instead it’s been the cake for so long.”

The group pays two staff members, class instructors, office utilities, and $1,500 a month rent for the office—which the group has recently received past-due notices. "I knew I wasn’t getting my paycheck, but I didn’t realize it was $25,000 of not having a paycheck," says Addie Candib, a Home Alive instructor. "I think for the last six months or so, [paychecks] have generally been late."

Last year, tuition from 120 self-defense and boundary-setting classes went toward the group’s annual $90,000 budget. About 1,100 people attended classes, paying on a sliding scale from nothing up to $75. The average contribution is around $25. But requiring fees for classes would “never fly” with the organization’s leaders, Alexander says. The remainder of the organization's funding comes from online donations and a set of benefit CDs.

Alexander says she doesn’t have access to detailed financial records, so she can’t determine if income has dropped or expenses have increased over the years. But she says that about six years ago, Home Alive laid off its entire staff, and for a couple years the group had only two board members.

“It’s pretty shitty,” says Maria Carney, an outreach coordinator. “We can be passionate and have amazing events but ... the technical details can fall by the wayside.”

Alexander concurs: “I just don’t think we have had the skills on the board to meet all the needs of the organization.” Board members have not returned calls to comment; however, they will likely attend a meeting this Sunday to decide how to rescue Home Alive.

Clearly, Alexander—or someone with an accountant’s mind—is necessary if the organization is to survive in this economic weather. She speculates that the group can maintain classes by using a desk and phone line in another office, or operating as a subsidiary of a larger nonprofit. “I think that if someone just handed me $50,000 and said, ‘Pay off your debt and we need you to continue on,’ we're still going to stop scheduling new classes and think about restructuring so we are not having this conversation again in the future.”

The meeting is Sunday, February 8, from 1:00 p.m. to 3:00 p.m. at 1415 10th Avenue, office #3.