Luke* had known for years that home wasn’t safe.
The day his brother chased him with a knife was the moment he reached breaking point.
“After that, I ran off,” he says. “I went straight to my support worker, and that’s when we started looking at other options.”
Days later, he arrived at City Limits, Geelong’s only youth crisis refuge for people aged 16 to 20.
As youth homelessness continues to rise and affordable housing slips further out of reach, the modest four-bed house has become both an emergency shelter and a temporary lifeline.
“When you think of a refuge, you think worst case,” Luke says. “You think it’s going to be scary.”
Instead, he found something unfamiliar: a sense of safety.
“I’d probably say City Limits saved my life,” he says. “If I didn’t go there, I think I would have ended up somewhere really dark.”
Behind stories like Luke’s is a service in constant demand.
Each month, Meli’s Youth Entry Point – the front door for young people experiencing homelessness in Geelong – carries an average waitlist of about 125 young people, with around 40 new clients presenting monthly. More cases are opening than closing.
For the small number referred to City Limits, the wait for a bed is typically at least three months, and often longer.
Some young people are prioritised because of immediate risk, but even then, access often comes down to timing.
“With only four beds, we can never meet demand,” says Jo Baillon, Manager Housing Services at Meli, the organisation that operates City Limits.
Each year, around 1,000 young people seek homelessness support across the Geelong region. City Limits can house only a fraction of them.
“It doesn’t matter how many times you see the numbers, they’re always confronting,” Baillon says. “They translate to someone’s son or daughter, sibling, family member or teammate. It’s very sobering.”
Many of those who miss out are already without a safe place to sleep – couch surfing, sleeping rough or remaining in unsafe environments because there are few alternatives.
When beds are full, staff try to reduce harm where they can by arranging food, linking young people with meal services and, as a last resort, providing emergency shelter such as tents or swags.
“We see quite a few young people who are sleeping rough, or in their cars if they have one,” says Ben Prior, Meli’s Team Leader of Accommodation and Intake.
“Others say they’re staying in a garage at a parent’s place or with a friend. That’s basically rough sleeping – just with a roof.”
For those who make it inside City Limits, the reality is quieter than most expect.
Inside, there is no reception desk and no barrier between residents and staff – just a shared kitchen, a living room, worn couches and the rhythms of everyday life.
For young people arriving from violence, instability or neglect, that ordinariness can be disarming.
“It was literally just a house,” Luke says. “There was art on the walls. There was a living area. It just felt normal. City Limits did a really good job at making it feel like a home.”
With just four beds and rising demand, City Limits is a lifeline – and often a last resort – for young people with nowhere else to go.
That sense of normality was unfamiliar to him.
“It wasn’t fantastic at home,” he says. “Mum was good to me in some ways. But she was also financially abusing me. My stepdad and brother were verbally and physically abusive, and sometimes that would go beyond.”
The violence had shaped most of his childhood and escalated as he got older. By 16, he had dropped out of school as his mental health deteriorated.
“That’s when it got really bad,” he says. “I was home all the time. I didn’t have that escape anymore.”
Like many young people, it took time to recognise what was happening.
“If you grow up around it, you don’t see it as violence,” he says. “You just think that’s how a normal family acts.”
By 19, Luke was trying to leave but unable to secure a place to rent.
Rising rents, low vacancy rates and a lack of savings or family support had locked him out of the private market.
At 20, after the incident with his brother, City Limits was suggested.
“I didn’t know what to expect,” he says. “But looking back, it was probably the best decision I made.”
What changed most was not just having a place to stay, but how he was treated.
“There was one worker – she was the first one I actually opened up to,” he says.
“She didn’t judge me or talk down to me, which for me is a really big thing. I’d just moved out of home for the first time in my life, so it was really scary. It was good to have someone who treated me like a normal person.”
As the days passed, life settled into routine: shopping trips, shared meals, cleaning, quiet evenings.
Sometimes the residents cooked together. Sometimes they watched movies after dinner.
And often, there was Goose – the house cat who became an unexpected constant, quietly weaving through daily life.
“Seeing the cat made it feel more like a home,” Luke says. “People would fall asleep on the couch and Goose would just curl up on them.”
He laughs.
“I think Goose knew I wasn’t a cat person, so we didn’t really get along. But other people loved it. It made a difference.”
It’s those small, everyday moments that often carry the most weight, says Prior.
“We’ve had young people cook meals for the house and take photos because they’re so proud,” he says. “It seems small, but it’s massive.”
Luke stayed at City Limits for five months – far beyond the intended six-week stay.
What was designed as short-term crisis accommodation is often being used for longer stays, with young people stuck between immediate danger and a housing market they cannot access.
“I moved in at a time when everything was packed,” Luke says.
Earlier this year, with support from Meli, he moved into supported independent housing with one of the first people he met at the refuge.
He now works a couple of days a week, goes to the gym regularly and is saving for a place of his own.
“My long-term goal is to get my own private unit,” he says.
Looking back, Luke is clear about what City Limits gave him.
“The refuge was really important in getting me to where I am now,” he says. “This is probably the happiest I’ve been since I was, like, two.”
Both Luke and Prior hope stories like his challenge assumptions about what a refuge is.
“As soon as you tell people you lived in a refuge, they think the worst,” Luke says.
“But it’s just a house. It’s just young people living there because they don’t have anywhere else to go.”
For Prior, the message is simple.
“We just need more opportunities and more resources,” he says. “This work is quite hidden, but the need is huge.”
From the street, City Limits still looks like an ordinary Geelong home: quiet, ageing and easy to overlook.
But for the young people who arrive there, it is often the first place life begins to feel possible again.
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*Luke’s name has been changed to protect his identity.
**This article was originally published in the Geelong Advertiser on Saturday 8 August, 2026.
If you need someone to talk to, call:
- Lifeline on 13 11 14
- Kids Helpline on 1800 551 800
- Beyond Blue on 1300 22 46 36
- QLife on 1800 184 527
- Youth Homelessness Support (16-24 yrs) on 1800 825 955
- Safe Steps Family Violence (for women and children) on 1800 015 188
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