I became a widow in my 30s. I wish we'd talked about life insurance.

There’s a version of my life that still exists in my head: the one where my husband walks through the door, where our son grows up knowing him, where I’m not doing bedtime, bills and grief all at once.

But that version ended suddenly. Unexpectedly. No warning, no time to prepare, no checklist handed to me on what to do next. Just silence and a four-month-old baby who still needed everything from me.

I became a widow before I even fully understood what that word meant.

And here’s the part no one really tells you: especially if you’re in your 30s, there is almost no safety net for us.

We don’t fit the narrative people picture when they think of widowhood. We’re not elderly. We’re not nearing retirement. We’re not in a stage of life where the systems in place are designed to catch us. We are young, in the middle of building our lives, raising babies, growing careers – and then suddenly expected to carry it all alone.

There’s this quiet assumption that because we’re young, we’ll figure it out. That we have time to rebuild. That resilience is somehow easier when you’re under 40.

It’s not. It’s just lonelier.

We don't talk nearly enough about life insurance

My husband, Tyler, died from complications of pancreatitis when my son was less than 5 months old.

After my husband passed, I quickly realized how little structured support exists for young widows, especially those of us with children. The financial assistance is limited. The emotional support is fragmented. The guidance is almost nonexistent. You’re grieving the person you love most while also becoming the sole provider, the sole parent, the sole decision-maker overnight.

And somehow, you’re expected to do it gracefully.

We spend so much time talking about preparing for weddings. The dress, the venue, the vows. We normalize conversations about prenups, about protecting assets, planning for worst-case scenarios within a marriage.

But we don’t talk nearly enough about life insurance.

We don’t sit down with couples, young couples, new parents, people just starting out, and say this matters. This is protection. This is love in its most practical form.

Because here’s the reality: when my husband died, I didn’t just lose him. I lost his income. His future earnings. The security we were building together. The plans we hadn’t even had time to make yet.

And I had a four-month-old depending on me.

Life insurance isn’t a pessimistic conversation. It’s not planning for failure. It’s planning for the unthinkable in a way that protects the people you love most.

We should be talking about it with the same urgency we talk about prenups, if not more. Because one protects you in the event of separation. The other protects your family in the event of loss.

And loss doesn’t wait for you to be ready.

Young widows fall through systemic cracks

There is also a bigger conversation that needs to happen at a policy level. Young widows are falling through the cracks of systems that were never built with us in mind. We need expanded support – financial, childcare, mental health resources – tailored to families who are navigating loss in the middle of life, not at the end of it.

Because grief doesn’t pause your responsibilities, it multiplies them.

I didn’t plan to become a widow in my 30s. I didn’t plan to raise my son without his dad. I didn’t plan to learn how to carry this kind of weight while still showing up every day.

But here I am.

And if sharing this does anything, I hope it starts more honest conversations: between partners, between families and at a larger level where change actually happens.

Because love isn’t just the life you build together.

It’s how you protect each other, even in the moments you hope will never come.

Brielle Persun is a Charleston-based writer, content creator and PR professional whose work explores motherhood, grief and life after loss.