Like so many of the people we have the privilege of meeting at UGM, Ariel’s story is a complicated one. But you wouldn’t know that upon first meeting her. Her personal style is colourful, and her presence is peaceful. She speaks like someone who has spent the past few years reflecting — and healing. Now, she’s sharing that new life with others.
I grew up in Saskatoon, and when I was little, I would spend all of my school breaks with my dad’s parents about an hour outside the city. They had a farm, and that was a huge part of my childhood — I would spend the entire day with my grandpa, following him around. I just absolutely adored doing that.
My parents, at the time, were living with addiction. They had a very toxic relationship, and they split ways when I was three. My mom went on to meet my stepdad in recovery programming when I was five, and he’s been in my life ever since. They’ve been sober for most of my life.
I did really well in school: I had lots of friends, and I enjoyed sports and art and playing with my younger sister. She’s a year and a half younger than me, so we were very close. But in high school, I started to struggle a bit. I found myself hanging out with the wrong people and getting into trouble. I started to drink a lot, and I got into party substances. My parents began to worry, because they didn’t want to see me going down the same road they’d gone down.
An unexpected setback
I moved to Regina — being young and in love, I thought everything was gonna work out just fine. After my daughter was born, I finished high school thanks to a special program for young moms, and I graduated with scholarships and acceptance to the University of Regina nursing program.
I was doing very well at that point in my life. After one term at university, I transferred my credits to Saskatoon because I wanted to be closer to my parents, and for the next few years I went to school and had a few jobs and raised my daughter. Things were good.
In my third year of programming, my partner and I became pregnant with our second child, my son. Six months into my pregnancy, my partner didn’t come home from work — it turned out he’d gotten a new girlfriend, and had been cheating throughout our entire relationship. This was the event that shifted everything in my life. Things got really bad really fast. By the time my son was born, I was a single mom.
I’d always struggled with mental health in my teens, but when that depression hit, it became unmanageable. I spent a lot of time in bed. I had a very small baby I was taking care of, so I didn’t immediately turn to drinking or drugs, but I started to go out with friends just to forget everything that was going on in my life. I met a new group of girls who really partied, and eventually I was in full-blown addiction. I asked my parents to take my kids for the summer while I got my life back together. Instead, I went off the deep end.
A voice in the dark
The next nine years were really hard. I’d grown up in church and had always believed in God, but when that time in my life hit me, I convinced myself there was no God. Things had gotten so bad, I just couldn’t care anymore.
I was really in the grip of my addiction, and I was surrounded by people with the same lifestyle, and it was dark.
I ended up in a horribly abusive relationship, and my depression was so bad I started to lose touch with reality. I came to Vancouver, and my mental health slipped further: people in my circles were disappearing, and the fear sent me into deep psychosis. I spent two months running around downtown Vancouver homeless. It was one of the worst experiences of my life — I wouldn't go in buildings, I was so scared.
I ended up on the steps of the Holy Rosary Cathedral downtown. It was the middle of the night, and the church was closed. There was nobody there, but I heard all this church music, and God was talking to me in my head. It was psychosis, but I truly believe that He had something to do with it. He told me I needed to get sober. After that night I got into detox, and my life changed from that point.
A new path
My first day of sobriety was July 1, 2022. It wasn’t easy — my psychosis took a few months to go away. I was really ill, I was very scared, and I didn’t trust anybody. I had this belief that I was a smart person and would be able to sort everything out myself. But through it all, I wanted to be sober, so I went to a small Catholic treatment centre called Sancta Maria House. I spent a year there, and it was really good for me — as my recovery progressed, they invited me to work some evenings supporting other women. When the following summer rolled around, I felt ready for the next step in my life, and I began looking for a place to live.
One of the other clients at Sancta Maria House mentioned she had a friend living in The Sanctuary Transitional Housing Program (STHP). I’d never heard of it, but I applied — I didn’t know if I’d get accepted, but they had a space for me, and it was a really quick process. It was just another gift from God, that I now had this place to live while I continued to work.
I went into STHP as just myself. My son was still living with my parents at that point, my daughter with her dad, but I’d really been working on my relationships with my family and talking to my kids all the time. That fall, my son called me and said “I want to move in with you.” I was so surprised, we’d been apart for so long. But I continued to work really hard in all of my programming, so by December, I was able to move into a two-bedroom apartment. We waited for his school year to finish, and then he came to live with me full-time at the end of August last year.
It’s been so good to be together, I absolutely love it. I can’t believe how smoothly it’s gone — if I’d moved across the country at 10 years old, I would have been nervous, but I think the timing was right. He made friends at school right away, and he started going to the Eastsiders After-School Program, which he loves. He’s been back to visit my parents, and we’re building this new life together, all of us. I know I wouldn’t have been able to have my son move back in with me if I wasn’t at UGM; it’s been just so amazing.
I don’t exactly know what I want to do down the road, but I know I want to remain here and raise my son. I used to make a lot of plans and be really set on things being a certain way, but since I’ve found recovery, I’ve learned to go with the flow. I’ve regained my relationship with God, and it’s very important to me. I don’t want to go back to my addiction, or even before it, because I just felt lost. I don’t feel lost anymore. I think that God will guide me where I need to go. I’m happier than I've ever been in my life.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28
You wouldn’t know it from our contemporary focus on productivity, but God is a big fan of rest. From the Bible’s earliest pages, we see God practicing downtime: in six days He made the world, and on the seventh, He rested (Genesis 2:2). The tradition of Sabbath — a day of rest without work — is included in the Ten Commandments the Israelites receive while they wander the desert. And when Jesus becomes overwhelmed by crowds, He retreats to a quiet place to recuperate (Mark 6:31–32).
It’s this concept of rest and peace that we honour in all of our programming here at Union Gospel Mission — and you’ll see it at work in our Women’s Programming most specially.
For so many of the women who access services at UGM, life is chaotic. The work of raising children, earning a subsistence income, and navigating systems designed to exclude them takes a toll. Many are struggling with addiction; some have experienced intimate partner violence. It’s hard to recharge when you’re bailing water. It’s impossible to rest when you’re drowning.
That’s why the environment we are working to create here at UGM is one of tranquility — of ongoing Sabbath. Because we know that, in order for women to heal, they need to step out of the chaos. When women enter programming at UGM, they have the opportunity to focus on their own well-being and who God created them to be. They can set down their heavy burdens. They can heal.
We’re thankful that this gentle, restful approach to care is encouraging hearts and changing lives. Take a moment to hear from Bonny on how Arrow Home is welcoming women into recovery programming that feels like home. Read about how essential childcare is to giving mothers the space to rebuild. And dive into what a farm setting is doing for women in recovery at Cedar Haven.
We’re so grateful that you continue to join us in creating spaces of rest in our communities. It’s with intentionality and thoughtfulness that we can invite more people into the practice of Sabbath — and into God’s loving and unhurried care.
In faith and hope,
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