Welcome back! Today I am sharing with you what I’ve recently learned about herbs and plants that have historically been considered helpful in times of grief or sorrow.

If you’re thinking “gosh, that seems…abrupt,” well, you’re not wrong. Today’s topic can be considered almost a part “B” to my previous post; they’re related but can also stand alone. If you’re just joining, you may wish to return here to get the story on why I’m talking about these herbs now, but let me give you a quick heads-up: the story centers on pet illness and loss. If you’re not feeling up to that, I totally understand. From here on out, we’ll be talking exclusively about plants.

On to the herbs!

Picking up where we left off: in October I found myself preparing for an upcoming loss. I began considering how I could plan for simple things that might provide moments of respite from the inevitable grieving I knew was coming. 

Unlike some aspects of human life that have drastically changed over the centuries, the pain of losing loved ones is the same for us today as it has been throughout history. No remedy can eliminate the pain of grief and loss, nor is there a vaccine that would immunize us against heartache.

However, as our forebears knew, plants can help to ease negative emotional and physical responses to our grief and give us the “room” to think, process and react to the circumstances that are causing that pain. By calming racing hearts, overactive minds and clenching muscles, as well as by strengthening the nervous and cardiovascular systems taxed by our emotions, herbs allow us to endure, to learn and eventually to heal. 

So partly as a grounding thought exercise and partly to work on the “acceptance” stage of grief, I decided to explore how humans have historically treated emotional pain.

Planning the search

I already had a few herbal allies in mind from my own experience and learning over the past few years. I refilled my dropper bottle of lemon balm tincture so it would be on hand and ready, as I knew from experience that lemon balm helps to calm my emotions and reduce feelings of panic. Chamomile is of course known for its calming effects; since my own harvest this year was poor, I knew a purchased tea could easily be found at the grocery store if needed. Finally, I started infusing another big batch of hawthorn berry tincture. Besides being delicious and an easy remedy to stick to, hawthorn cares for the heart in both the physical and the emotional sense, so I knew I could benefit from its comfort. 

For other traditional remedies, I looked to the three historical herbals on my bookshelf: those by Hildegard von Bingen, Nicholas Culpeper and John Gerard. Of course I recognize that these three represent only the tiniest fraction of herbal knowledge around the world, even in their own times. In full transparency, however, I lacked not only the ready access to other works but also the emotional “spoons” to pursue further at the time. 

Even with such a small sample size, I wanted to compare what these leading herbalists recommended across the centuries. Coincidentally, there were about 500 years between Hildegard’s medieval writings and those of the early modernists Gerard and Culpeper, and approximately four centuries have passed since those early herbals were published in English. What might have changed over the course of nearly a millennium? Have any remedies stood the test of time? 

Finally, to discover whether any 12th- or 17th-century treatments are still in use today, I relied on three excellent 21st-century herbals: those by Matthew Wood, Rosemary Gladstar, and Thomas Easley & Steven Horne (bibliographical info below in “Sources” section). 

A note on terminology

Early in my exploration, I noticed a difference in how grief (or melancholy or sadness, as it is more commonly described in these texts) was thought of as an ailment and when considering treatments.

In general, Hildegard von Bingen’s approach gives remedies to ease the physical pains brought on by a profound sadness, which is consistent with her prescriptions for most illnesses. We see that in her time, the proper treatment for a given bodily ailment was often determined by what was thought to have caused that problem. For example, a patient with a stomach ache might be given one remedy if they had eaten rotten food, but an entirely different cure if the ache was thought to be caused by breathing bad air.

By the 17th century, herbals more often addressed emotions as symptoms themselves to be addressed; while sadness could certainly manifest as an aching head or shortness of breath, many remedies were aimed at easing the melancholy itself. 

Findings, from the expected to the unusual

I’ll start with the plants and herbs that have, to varying degrees, persisted as known remedies for sadness and melancholy into the modern age. These will likely seem the most logical options to most folks. From there, we’ll move to others that may surprise the casual gardener, and then to some remedies that might strike some as downright strange.

Rose

Today, the rose may most often be associated with positive emotions such as romantic love, but historically it has been connected to a wide variety of uses and meanings. Both Gerard and Culpeper identified the rose – red or white – as a remedy to strengthen the heart and refresh one’s spirits. The benefits of roses could be enjoyed by distilling them in water, creating a rose syrup, or making a conserve or “sugar of roses.” 

I’d hazard a guess that most of us have been cheered by sniffing a blooming rose at one point or another, so you’re unlikely to be surprised to learn that roses are still used today in this manner.  Modern herbalists Thomas Easley and Steven Horne recommend including the petals in an herbal tea to “reduce stress and help heal heartache,” and their observation is seconded by respected herbalist and author Matthew Wood, who adds “profound anxiety” to the conditions that benefit from rose. 

Rosemary

Although rosemary is often mentally filed away as a savory culinary flavor, this herb has been used as an emotional support boost from ancient times to today. As I mentioned earlier, my research resources for this exercise were limited to my existing bookshelf, but fortunately my early modern herbals shed some light on previous writings upon which they relied.

John Gerard cited earlier widespread references by Arabian writers and “other Physitions” since that recommended making a conserve of rosemary flowers and sugar, to be ingested every day to mend mind and spirit. Culpeper agreed with the flower conserve method, but also advised that if a “melancholy man” were to “take the flowers, and make them into a powder, then bind them on the right arm in a linen cloth, this powder, by working on the veins, will make a man more merry than ordinary.” 

(Note: I was somewhat surprised not to find any reference to rosemary in Hildegard’s Physica, falling as it did between the ancient and the early modern, but I may have overlooked it or perhaps she used another name that I was not familiar with.)

All three modern herbals reported that rosemary is still valued as an antidepressant and nervine support to combat nervousness and anxiety. Whether taken as a tincture or infusion, rosemary will help to calm and restore the nervous system. 

Borage

Moving into (possibly) less-familiar territory for some folks, let’s talk about borage. It could be just my imagination, but it seems that borage is better known in the UK than it is in the US – or perhaps I just haven’t met many borage fans on this side of the pond yet. Still, it seems appropriate for this plant to be in the upper half of the pack, because those that are acquainted with it know its medicinal potential is significant, particularly when it comes to lifting spirits. 

Now I really like borage – so much so that I wrote an entire post about it earlier this fall! Rather than rehash it all, I will summarize by saying that while Hildegard reserved borage for other physical ailments, both Culpeper and Gerard spoke strongly in favor of using borage to reduce sadness, melancholy, pensiveness, sorrow, dullness…just about every synonym for grief you can imagine. The flowers especially were said to cheer one who consumed them as a syrup or in a sugared treat. 

As with rosemary, every modern herbal I consulted confirmed borage as an antidepressant. Fresh flowers and leaves are best, but before ingesting any part of borage, please discuss it with your physician, as there is a low level of toxicity in the plant that may harm internal organs or interfere with other medications.

To read more about borage (and to see more proof of how gorgeous it really is), check out my post here.

Lily of the Valley

This familiar flower falls in the middle of this pack, because while undoubtedly everyone is familiar with its attractive blooms, it isn’t on the top of most modern folks’ lists as a natural remedy – and with good reason! 

Almost to a word, Gerard and Culpeper sang the same refrain about lily of the valley: if distilled in wine, it will comfort the heart and renew one’s spirits. What’s not to love, right? Pretty spring flowers, pleasant scent that’s used in many perfumes even today; honestly it sounds a lot less offputting than some remedies of the day, so what harm could it do? 

As it turns out, plenty. Today we know that all parts of the plant are toxic, and it is especially dangerous to children and pets. Lily of the valley is by no means the only plant used in traditional healing practices that is now advised against, but as Easley & Horne unequivocally state, it should be used only by professionals and with the utmost care. (Incidentally, their book The Modern Herbal Dispensatory does not note any emotional support uses for this plant.)

Best admire this one from afar. 

Motherwort and Feverfew

I’ve paired these two lesser-known plants together, as neither herb was well-documented in my historical herbals as particularly effective against grief. Hildegard recommended feverfew for other purposes, but she did not specify motherwort at all, at least not by that name – again, perhaps there was a different term used in the 12th century. (If you know, please share with me in the comments!)

In a rare divergence within the early modern camp, Culpeper and Gerard each championed one of these herbs for allaying sadness but not the other. Culpeper put his money on motherwort, which he praised as the best herb to “drive melancholy vapours from the heart, to strengthen it, and make the mind cheerful, blithe and merry.” In contrast, Gerard instructed those “such as be melancholike, sad, pensive, and without speech” to add dried and powdered feverfew (or “fetherfew;” that flexible 17th-century spelling was in full effect) to wine to drive away those conditions. 

Never fear, though; whether you are Team Culpeper or Team Gerard, there’s at least one modern herbalist who supports your side. Easley & Horne condoned motherwort as a sedative to allay anxious or nervous feelings, while Wood added that it can soothe “excessive emotionality.” Wood also supported feverfew to raise spirits and decrease nervous feelings, so I’d call either herb a valid candidate. 

A few things HAVE changed in the last millennium

Heads up, here’s where we start exploring some remedies that generally get much less traction these days. All of the following are included in Hildegard’s recommendations, but unless otherwise noted, I found no reference to these herbs in the context of treating grief or melancholy in either the 17th-century or the 21st-century herbals.

Mandrake

Yes, Harry Potter fans, you’ve got the right idea. While non-magical mandrakes lack the ability to deafen gardeners with their screams (as far as I know, at least), we are essentially talking about the same horticultural specimen.

Mandrakes were so named because their roots have a faintly humanoid shake, and therefore cures often involved the part of the root that resembled the part of the patient’s body that suffered. (This view was not unique to Hildegard; many medieval remedies assumed that a plant’s appearance gave clues as to its God-given medical purpose. For example, eyebright got its name, along with its assigned medical properties, because the flower itself resembles an eye.) 

I’m not even going to quote Hildegard for this one, as her work explained many such uses for mandrake that I find fascinating. I truly recommend you grab a copy and read the entirety for yourself, as it is enlightening to see this type of medical thinking and experimentation at work.

Amusingly, five centuries later Gerard tore basically all “traditional” thought about mandrakes apart in his herbal, saying that it was nothing more than old wives’ tales and dismissing it entirely. I was unable to find any references to mandrake in the modern herbals at hand.

Mullein

Hildegard’s instructions on using mullein were simple and straightforward: “One whose heart is weak and sad should cook, and frequently eat, mullein with meat, fish, or small tarts, but with no other herbs. It will strengthen his heart and make him happy.” 

I found one modern-day reference to mullein as a remedy for emotional duress: Wood stated that it may benefit those who “think too much” or suffer from nervousness or insomnia.

Today, one is more likely to see mullein oil used as a cure for earaches. I’ve also read that the entire dried flower stalk, if dipped in wax, also makes a great natural torch in the autumn. I haven’t tried this but would love to hear about it if you have! 

Rue

Hildegard suggested that a person suffering from melancholy should eat rue following a meal, as “the heat of rue attenuates the harsh heat of melancholy and tempers its excessive cold.” Here again is an intriguing application of the medieval notion about the importance of balancing the humors; if one suffered from an excess of cold, they must offset it with a treatment that brings heat to drive it away. 

Gerard and Culpeper both cited rue for various other ailments, but not in relation to grief or sadness. Modern herbalists, it must be noted, advise against taking rue internally at all. Wood’s herbal mentioned that rue may be beneficial to those unable to let go of negative emotions; he did not make a specific connection to sadness, but a reasonable connection may be made. 

Geranium

Taking rue one step further, Hildegard advised one “who has pain in his heart and is always sad” to pulverize “geranium, and less pennyroyal, and even less rue” and eat it along with bread on a regular basis. This, she said, would boost the heart and restore the person to happiness.

Fennel

Today, fennel is generally prized for its culinary contributions, or perhaps as an ingredient in absinthe. If a 21st-century person is familiar with fennel as a medicinal herb, it is most likely in its role as a carminative or digestive aid. Culpeper recommended fennel as a gastrointestinal cure, while Gerard used it to improve eyesight. 

In Hildegard’s day, however, a melancholic person was advised to liquify fennel and apply it topically on “forehead, temples, chest and stomach” to drive it away. 

Onyx

Yes, I know this is not an herb or plant, but I had to include one final instruction from Hildegard on easing sadness. As those familiar with her Physica will already know, that work includes not only plants, but also sections on elements, trees, stones, fish, birds, animals, reptiles and metals. 

Of onyx, she wrote: “If you are oppressed with sadness, look at an onyx intently, then place it in your mouth. The oppression of your mind will cease.” I confess, this passage makes me want to spend considerably more time examining Hildegard’s observations outside of the plant world, as this is certainly a glimpse into her worldview that is beyond what I’d expected! 

Outcome

So after surveying (briefly) the last millennium for herbal allies against grief, have I added any of them to my emotional arsenal?

To be entirely honest: not to any great extent. Not that I don’t see value in some of the options above; if it wasn’t the middle of winter and borage was in flower, I might give that a try. Even just looking at borage makes me smile during the summertime, so it’d be great if I had some of that to hand now. Rosemary is another favorite of mine, so I’ll gladly adopt any extra reason to add it to even more wintertime meals! Still, my experience so far has been that the lemon balm and hawthorn tinctures have been great comforts to me, boosting me when everything just seems overwhelming.

Do you have any other herbal remedies that have helped you through periods of sadness or loss? Share in the comments below! (Oh, and it should go without saying: make sure to consult your physician before adding any herbal supplements to your routine; safety first, as always.)

Sources and Further Reading

Gerard, J., & Woodward, M. (2015). Gerard’s Herball. The Noverre Press. 

Culpeper, N. (2018). Culpeper’s English physician and complete herbal. Forgotten Books. 

Von Bingen, H. (1998). P. Throop (Trans.), Hildegard von bingen’s PHYSICA: The complete translation of her classic work on health and healing. Healing Arts Press. 

Easley, T., & Horne, S. H. (2016). The modern herbal dispensatory: A medicine-making guide. essay, North Atlantic Books. 

Wood, M. (2008). The EARTHWISE herbal, a complete guide to Old World medicinal plants. North Atlantic Books. 

Gladstar, Rosemary. (2008). Rosemary Gladstar’s Herbal Recipes for Vibrant Health. Storey Publishing.