Dart Center for Journalism and Trauma

Photo: Jeff Widener: Donna Ho'omanawanui, left, resident night manager at a Windward spouse abuse shelter, shares a laugh with Mikki Buentello, center, and Kaliegh Cuervo, two battered women who were staying there in October to escape their abusers. The two have since left the shelter.

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Denby Lee Toci was stuck in an abusive relationship for 17 years. She tried leaving her husband several times, but always came back, partly out of fear and partly because she wanted to keep her family intact. She also held out hope that her husband's abusive behavior would stop.

That all changed in 2000.

Toci returned home one day to find her four kids crying, terrified at what more their father might do. Her 5-year-old son was huddled in a corner, shirtless, shaking in fear. He had welts on his back, left there by his father's punishing hand.

That was the incident that prompted Toci to leave her husband, who has a long criminal record, and not look back.

Today, she manages the same domestic violence shelter in Hilo, Hawai'i, where she fled with her kids in 2000. Since divorcing her husband, she also has accomplished other goals that she previously put on hold while trying to survive as a battered woman.

Toci's story and those of many other formerly abused women serve as inspiring tales that can give hope to other victims.

Despite the many gaps in Hawai'i's domestic violence safety net and the difficulties in dealing with the criminal justice system, success stories like Toci's are not hard to find.

"She's living proof that all of us victims of domestic violence can come out OK and be able to be loved again," said Lynne Enriques, Toci's boss and a formerly battered woman herself.

The dozen or so other cases The Advertiser found were similar in many ways.

The women tended to be resilient, resourceful, focused. They considered themselves survivors, not victims. They came away from their ordeals emotionally scarred but strong enough to overcome the system's many hurdles.

They also had dedicated advocates who helped them navigate the gaps.

"I see little rays of hope," said Deborah DeRoos, a Kaua'i nonprofit executive, speaking of the successes she comes across when service providers work together to help survivors.

Toci, 41, saw few rays of hope during her tumultuous relationship with her high school sweetheart, who was 10 years older and her first love. The two started dating when she was 16 and eventually married.

Toci said she left him several times during their relationship but would end up returning, partly because he would say he was sorry and promised to change. "They have a tendency to seduce you with words," Toci said.

She also said she stayed because he threatened to harm her or her family if she left.

Her ex-husband, who could not be reached for comment, has nearly 20 convictions on his record, including terroristic threatening, several domestic-abuse-related offenses and felony assault. Toci said they got divorced while he was in prison, and she obtained a 10-year protective order against him.

While they were together, she said, he wouldn't let her go to school, even though her dream was to get a college degree and land a good job, like her sisters. One works for the Federal Reserve, another is a physician.

Despite the abuse, Toci tried to save her marriage in part because she saw what her parents had. They have been married more than 50 years.

She also questioned how much the criminal justice system could help her. "I hesitated to call police many times," Toci said. "In the back of my mind, I was thinking, 'How much can they really protect me?' "

Toci said her husband was very controlling, trying to dictate who she could see and where she could go. At one point, the family was so destitute she had to go on welfare.

"My world was very small and isolated," Toci said. "I just endured the relationship."

Since ending that relationship, Toci's world has changed dramatically for the better. With the help of her parents, she went back to school and obtained three bachelor's degrees in justice administration, sociology and philosophy. She's also pursuing a master's degree in marriage and family therapy. She eventually landed a job as a domestic-violence victim advocate, then got the shelter manager position in August. Even her kids, who needed therapy because of the abuse, are doing better, she said.

"Denby's life has just blossomed," said Enriques, who worked at the shelter when Toci lived there. "She's an achiever. She's got that command of herself now."

Enriques, 42, knows how challenging it was for Toci to turn her life around. She had to do the same thing.

Enriques was in a 15-year relationship in her 20s and 30s with a boyfriend who regularly beat her. She suffered a broken nose, black eyes, broken ribs. Once, she said, he kicked her in the stomach while she was pregnant with their child, and Enriques ended up having emergency surgery. Her unborn baby didn't survive.

After each attack, her boyfriend would apologize profusely and try to make up with flowers.

"Every time he would beat me, every time he would hurt me, I would get red roses," she said. "To this day, I can't stand red roses."

Today, Enriques is director for family and community programs at Child & Family Service in Hilo.

Women who have survived abusive relationships say leaving their abusers can be an extremely difficult, even dangerous process.

But with the right help, including an effective exit plan, it can be safely done, they said.

"I think it's important that women know they can get out, that it can be OK," said Kaliegh Cuervo, 36, who left an abusive marriage recently. "They should know that no matter how great the fear, no matter what the odds are, they can pick up the phone and change their life.

"Yes, it will be difficult. Yes, it will be an uphill climb. But your life is worth so much more."