Youth homelessness does not fit a narrow definition, I would know

By Xander

People assume that those experiencing homelessness are choosing instability, avoiding “real work”, or misusing welfare to fund addictions. This couldn’t be further from the truth, writes Xander Ashman.

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Photo by Andrew Lvov on Unsplash

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“Did you have a shopping trolley you carried all your stuff in?” my friend asked, a genuine curiosity in her voice. My stomach clenched. “No,” I replied, “I had a storage locker. I lived in my car.”

I don’t blame her for asking. But it was a stark reminder that our image of youth homelessness is drastically out of sync with the lived reality. It’s an image problem that leaves so many vulnerable young people – especially queer youth – invisible and unsupported.

I remember my rented room. Black mould thick on the walls, water dripping from the light fixture, and two pride flags hanging proudly. When the real estate agent came, his compact camera captured the flags, but not the mould, not the brown water, not the cracks that spiderwebbed across the walls.

“I hope they’re not going to kick me out because of who I am,” I remember thinking, a knot of fear tightening in my chest. Even those small flags, symbols of belonging, felt like a risk.

We’ve all been fed a narrow definition of homelessness: shopping trolleys overflowing with belongings, addiction, mental health struggles, sleeping rough. The visible signs, the easy stereotypes.

But that’s just one piece of the picture. The Australian Bureau of Statistics estimates that around 50% of young people experiencing homelessness aren’t sleeping rough. They’re couch surfing, staying in overcrowded or unsafe dwellings, or, like me, living in their cars. They’re hidden in plain sight, struggling in places with mould, leaking light fixtures, and cracks in the walls. Places where even a pride flag can feel dangerous.

For me, it all unravelled when the agent never showed up, and I was locked out of my apartment due to circumstances I won’t go into. Pricelessly sentimental items: high school records, my dad’s guitars, my grandmother’s nursing school notes, my birth certificate – all gone. All I had were the things I could grab the night before: some clothes, my cats, my work badge. And I was working 40 hours a week.

“I shouldn’t have had those pride flags hanging in my room,” the voice in my head whispered. “Maybe me being who I am is the reason this is happening.”

It’s a common misconception that young people are just lazy or unwilling to work hard enough to afford housing. This toxic narrative reinforces the harmful idea that homelessness is a personal choice. It’s not.

The statistics paint a grim picture. Unemployment among 15-to-24-year-olds sits at 9.6%, a figure significantly higher than in previous years. And for those who are employed, many are underemployed, desperate for more hours but unable to find them. Without secure employment, housing security is a pipe dream.

I woke up at 5 am, my arm numb, parked at the beach. Time to leave before the morning walkers and their quiet judgements. I texted my housing worker, hoping for a night in temporary accommodation, just a single night to stretch out on a real bed.

“Not yet, but I will let you know when we have a place. We don’t have enough funding.”

I decided not to ask again for a few days. I didn’t want to be a burden.

Basic safety is intrinsically linked to housing security. Melbourne City Mission’s Youth Homelessness Snapshot revealed that a staggering 83% of young people in their data had experienced family and domestic violence. Young people may choose to leave unsafe environments, to escape persecution for their identity, or simply because they have nowhere else to turn. Leaving is a brave, often life-saving, decision.

Family and domestic violence shatters mental health and sabotages education and employment prospects. Without access to safe, secure, and affordable housing, young people, especially LGBTQIA+ young people, are falling through the cracks.

How did I get into transitional housing? It’s a complex process. After weeks of sleeping in my car, I finally heard back from my housing worker about a spot that had become available in a transitional housing apartment – a small, one bedroom apartment that provides a temporary safe haven for young people experiencing homelessness.

That 3x3 metre room felt like a mansion. A shower I didn’t have to pay to use. Running water. Hot water. A toilet. I could stretch out my legs. I felt like the luckiest person alive. For the first time in months, I slept through the night, without numb limbs or panic. I felt safe.

People assume that those experiencing homelessness are choosing instability, avoiding “real work”, or misusing welfare to fund addictions. This couldn’t be further from the truth. They’re not choosing homelessness; they’re desperately seeking safety, often for the first time in their lives. They don’t need judgement; they need access to the most basic conditions to live, work, and recover.

That’s where organisations like HoMie come in. I remember walking into their warehouse and seeing a youth worker wearing a pride badge that read, “You are welcome here.” It glimmered against his HoMie lanyard. “Welcome to our Pathway Alliance program.”

Since that day, HoMie has been my lifeline. Their community has empowered me to re-engage in education and employment. Now, I use my experience to advocate for other young people who have walked a similar path.

For those young people who feel voiceless, who are too ashamed to reach out because of the damaging misconceptions surrounding homelessness: you are not a burden. You deserve help. You don’t deserve to exist in unsafe conditions.

I didn’t carry my belongings in a shopping trolley. I didn’t sleep on the street with a sign. I was part of the growing invisible population of young people experiencing homelessness.

Let’s rewrite the narrative. Let’s look beyond the stereotypes and see the real faces of youth homelessness – the student working two jobs, the queer youth escaping a hostile home, the survivor piecing their life back together. Let’s invest in organisations like HoMie that offer holistic support and create a welcoming space for young people to rebuild their lives. Because every young person deserves a safe place to call home, no matter how invisible their struggle may be.

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About the author

Xander Ashman is a 29-year-old Melbourne-based creative, youth advocate and graduate of HoMie’s Pathway Alliance Program, which supports young people affected by homelessness or hardship. Xander is passionate about creating spaces where all young people, especially those who’ve faced housing insecurity, feel safe, seen and supported. He’s particularly passionate about raising awareness of the additional barriers queer young people face in finding stable housing.