The Mourning We Don’t Speak Of: How Grief Was Expressed in the Victorian Era

The Rituals of Grief Expressed in the Victorian Era

Grief today is often silent—hidden behind polite smiles, short condolences, and the pressure to “be okay soon.” However, grief was expressed in the Victorian era; it wasn’t merely a private emotion. It was a language, a ritual, and a visible social expectation. Mourning had structure, purpose, and time. Understanding those historical practices can offer insight into why we still struggle to express loss today—and what we might reclaim to heal more honestly.

Why Mourning Became a Cultural System

Death shaped daily Victorian life in ways that are difficult to fathom today. Epidemics such as cholera, scarlet fever, and tuberculosis swept through cities and towns, shortening life expectancy and normalizing early death (Morley, 2018). Infant mortality was high, and families often lost children before their fifth birthdays. As a result, death was not hidden—it was expected, feared, and integrated into family identity.

Queen Victoria herself modeled lifelong mourning after the death of her husband, Prince Albert. She wore black for four decades and avoided public celebrations, influencing society’s perception of grief as long-term, sacred, and publicly expressed (Sennett, 2020). What she embodied became the standard: grief was not something to “move on from” quickly—it was something to live beside.

In a world where loss was constant, mourning rituals helped people feel connected, understood, and socially protected (Jalland, 1996). Rituals did not prevent pain, but they gave it shape.

The Clothing of Sorrow: Visible Grief and Structured Healing

Victorian mourning clothing wasn’t simply fashion—it was a form of communication. Widows, widowers, and family members wore specific materials and colors to signal their stage of grief.

Black crepe fabric was worn during “full mourning,” signifying the depth of loss and the need for social space (Jalland, 1996). After a designated period, individuals entered “half mourning,” shifting to lighter shades such as gray or lilac (Davidoff, 2012). Just as colors changed gradually, so did expectations of emotional recovery.

Grief was not a straight line, but the culture recognized that healing took time. Black allowed others to see grief without explanations. The fabric itself carried meaning—heavy, dull, and fragile. A widow might wear mourning for two years or longer, depending on her relationship to the deceased (Davidoff, 2012).

Today, we may no longer wear mourning attire, but many are familiar with the internal wish: I want the world to see I’m hurting without having to tell them.

Jewelry of Memory: Keeping the Dead Close

Victorians believed that memories should be tangible. They wove hair into brooches, rings, bracelets, and wall art—preserving a physical remnant of the deceased (Harvey, 2007). Mourning jewelry often contained miniature portraits, ashes, and, in some cases, dried flowers from the funeral.

This practice wasn’t strange or morbid to them—it was comforting, intimate, and deeply personal. The jewelry functioned as both remembrance and rebellion against the idea that loss could erase love (Lutz, 2015).

Hairwork, in particular, was considered a symbol of eternal connection because hair does not decay (Harvey, 2007). Today, we store memories in photographs, notes, and voicemail messages, but the sentiment is the same: we retain what remains.

When Photographs Stilled Time: Love After Life

Post-mortem photography preserved a person’s likeness before memory faded. Portraits of children, spouses, and elderly relatives were displayed in homes—not hidden away (Ruby, 1995). Sometimes eyes were painted open over closed eyelids to appear awake. Rather than fear death, Victorians resisted forgetting.

Photography was not widely accessible, so post-mortem images were often the only portrait families ever had (Ruby, 1995). These photographs created a bridge between the living and the dead. They were not viewed as morbid, but as evidence of love.

In a digital age, when countless photos exist, we forget how rare and precious a single image used to be—and how much weight it carried.

Private Sorrow, Public Silence: The Letters They Wrote

Public etiquette demanded composure, but private writing revealed honesty. Letters and diaries became safe spaces for confession, anguish, and heartbreak. People wrote to the dead, to God, or to themselves in order to survive overwhelming emotion (Sussman, 2019).

These writings show that Victorians felt what we feel now: disbelief, anger, numbness, longing. They simply had more words and more spaces to express it.

Today’s equivalent might be journaling, texting unsent messages, or keeping mementos hidden in drawers—grief needs a container, and private writing still provides one.

A Historical Scenario: The Widow at the Window

London, 1874.

It has been nine months since Charlotte lost her husband Thomas to tuberculosis. The house remains quiet—his boots by the door, his pipe untouched on the desk. Charlotte sits at the parlor window wearing a heavy black crepe dress that brushes the floor. Passersby observe her clothing and instinctively infer her silence, her absence from social events, and her avoidance of gatherings. She does not need to explain her grief—it is already known.

She fingers a mourning brooch pinned near her collar—the braid of Thomas’s chestnut hair woven beneath glass. In the evening, she writes to him in a leather-bound journal, confessing the anger she cannot voice aloud: You promised we would grow old together. I don’t know how to walk forward without becoming a ghost myself.

When neighbors leave warm bread at her door, no words are exchanged. The gesture acknowledges her loss without requiring her to speak. The world around her recognizes that grief is not measured in weeks, but in the space someone once filled.

Charlotte does not recover quickly—but she does not recover alone.

What We’ve Lost—and What We Are Still Searching For

Today, grief feels rushed. Funerals end quickly, sympathy cards stop arriving, and people return to work long before they feel whole again. Victorian rituals did not remove pain, but they offered visibility, time, and permission (Neimeyer, 2001).

Maybe the lesson isn’t to bring back black crepe or mourning jewelry—but to reclaim the idea that grief deserves community, expression, and patience. The Victorians believed grief was a journey, not a deadline. Many of us desperately need that belief again.

Conclusion: What Their Grief Teaches Ours

We may no longer wear black for two years or weave locks of hair into brooches, but the Victorians left us a message: grief is love that still needs somewhere to go. Their rituals show that healing is not about forgetting—it’s about integrating memory into a life that continues.

The question remains:

What ritual could help your heart carry what you’ve lost—without burying your love alongside your grief?

Reference List

Davidoff, L. (2012). The best circles: Society, etiquette and the season. Routledge.

Harvey, K. (2007). Reading sex in the eighteenth century: Bodies and gender in English erotic culture. Cambridge University Press.

Jalland, P. (1996). Death in the Victorian family. Oxford University Press.

Lutz, D. (2015). Mourning jewelry and memory: Hairwork in the 19th century. Victorian Studies Journal, 57(3), 415–432.

Morley, N. (2018). Death, disease, and the Victorian city. Cambridge University Press.

Neimeyer, R. A. (2001). Meaning reconstruction & the experience of loss. American Psychological Association.

Ruby, J. (1995). Secure the shadow: Postmortem photography in America. MIT Press.

Sennett, R. (2020). Victorian mourning and the culture of grief. University Press of England.

Sussman, H. (2019). Mourning in writing: Letters and diaries of sorrow. Victorian Literature Review, 62(4), 512–535.