A Dark Room
Finding Light in the Dark Room: What the Documentary “A Dark Room” Revealed About My Own TBI Recovery
Three years after experiencing a life altering concussion, I watched the 2016 documentary A Dark Room and felt like someone had finally filmed the inside of my head.
The film follows Max Taylor, a promising young hockey player whose NHL dreams ended when he suffered concussions back-to-back. Afterward, Max spent months literally locked away in a dark room—curtains drawn, lights off, noise intolerable, head pounding, emotions spiraling. He felt isolated, angry at the system that failed him yet still in love with the sport that in some ways made him who he was, and at times was suicidal. The documentary doesn’t sugar-coat it: the “dark room” wasn’t just a recovery recommendation—it became a prison of sensory overload, identity loss, and slow, uncertain healing. Through interviews with other players, doctors, and families, the film exposes hockey’s tough-it-out culture while showing the very real, very human cost of repeated concussions.
I didn’t play hockey. I wasn’t a pro athlete. But every frame of Max’s story hit me like a mirror. While not hockey, the world also has a “tough-it-out” culture where those suffering from a concussion are penalized and literally left behind, for a brain with no other option or choice but to slow down.
I resonated deeply with Max describing the concussion being like going back to square one in life - unable to have a conversation, couldn’t put words together, unable to watch tv, unable to have lights on. Just sitting, in the dark, waiting for symptoms to subside. His mother described walking slowly around the block with Max, his body shaking, grey and sweating terribly from such a simple slow walk. How was this her son now? His mom’s words describing him having immense difficulty on such a simple walk have literally been said verbatim by my wife about my sweating and similar inability to exert energy in walking as my brain struggles to keep up with the exertion of the body. The film was like watching quotes replayed directly from my own life and recovery process - yet from people I’ve never met before.
His thoughts didn’t align with what was happening - Max thought he would be able to just come back from the concussion and be himself. Strong willed internally, he didn’t want to complain, he thought like a pulled groin - the concussion would just go away with time. Play hard, suck it up! Unfortunately, a concussion isn’t something you can suck up. You need to be educated about it. Max said, “I was a completely different person”. He tried doing things, but symptoms were so bad the body wouldn’t be able to do it. Psychiatric effects including suicidal thoughts and actions were experienced. In his eyes it was a concussion that would just take time to heal. He believed in “5 months, 10 months, a year and a half” - he would recover and be back in game shape ready to go. Alone, in a dark room, doing nothing but thinking - realizing his career was coming to an end and life was forever changed… It is easy to see how the thoughts can become as dark as the room surrounding them. Anyone associated with the concussed person needs to understand their loved one and their caregivers need support. Stuck in a dark lonely place where no one accesses you and you can not access anyone else, unable to reach out to people - the dangerous road ahead is predictable but hard to see in the dark. Low pleasure, low experience of joy, feeling helpless, hopeless, worthless. It is hard for people to understand how someone can paradoxically both function and not function with this invisible injury as the brain’s connections are disrupted.
After my own TBI, I was given the same outdated advice that is found in so many of these stories: go home, rest, stay in a dark, quiet room until the symptoms fade. “You’ll get better soon”. For weeks I did exactly that—blinds closed, phone on night mode barely touched, conversations limited to whispers. It felt safe at first. Then it started to feel like punishment. With Post Concussion Syndrome, I didn’t get better soon. The isolation compounded the injury. My brain needed time, yes—but it also needed gentle stimulation, structure, and connection. What the old “dark room” protocol actually created (as the film quietly shows) was a perfect storm of depression, anxiety, and social withdrawal while internally I was screaming for normalcy and connection with others.
That withdrawal is what hurt most. Just like Max, I watched parts of my old life slip away.
The documentary doesn’t pretend recovery is quick or easy. It shows the long, messy middle: the days when headaches return for no reason, the frustration of explaining invisible symptoms, the grief of losing who you were before the injury. But it also points toward hope—through honest medical care, gradual re-engagement with life, and the quiet courage of survivors who choose to keep building even when the lights still hurt. The film also showed how Max rebuilds now, avoiding triggers for symptoms where possible, and he has hope even in this different life.
That part felt like permission.
I’ve been doing the work with learning from the MSKTC factsheets and modern concussion research that recommends: evaluating my social skills, setting tiny goals (asking one open-ended question in a conversation, practicing calm tone of voice), getting feedback, and working with therapists instead of hiding in the dark. Some days I still need the metaphorical dark room—a low-stimulation afternoon to let my brain reset, a nap. But I no longer live there. I’m learning to step back into the light in small, measured ways: talking with another brain injured friend who understands, a short walk where I practice staying present even with the sweat dripping, and drafting this blog post even when the words feel heavy and every sentence needs to be revised.
If you’re living with post-concussion struggles or TBI—whether you’re the one in the dark room or the family member trying to figure out how to show up—I hope A Dark Room finds you. It doesn’t offer easy answers, but it refuses to look away from the truth: these injuries are real, the emotional and social fallout is real, and the old advice to just “rest in the dark” can do more harm than good.
Recovery isn’t linear. Some relationships may never fully return to what they were. But like Max and the other athletes in the film, we can choose to stop waiting for perfect conditions and start building something new—one careful step, one honest conversation, one small act of courage at a time. Your focus and priorities shift and you need to find the hope, even when it isn’t positive.
I’m still writing my own ending. The room isn’t completely dark anymore even though it is still surrounded in fog. And that feels like enough light to keep going. There is hope.
If this resonates, you’re not alone. Watch A Dark Room if you can (available on several streaming platforms - currently on Prime Video). And if you’re struggling, reach out to a TBI-specialized speech-language pathologist or neuropsychologist—social skills and emotional recovery are treatable, even years later.
