The Spooky Science of Jeremy Renner’s Brush With Death
The science behind how our brains work in crisis can be genuinely weird!
Jeremy Renner’s My Next Breath is a fascinating and often moving memoir, and also a striking example of how humans build stories to survive the chaos of life. In the book, Renner recounts the shocking details of his near-fatal 2023 snowplow accident, from the crushing physical damage to the harrowing months of recovery. I had to put the book down and take a breather while reading through the descriptions of what he went through.
These passages are visceral and raw: the agony of shattered bones, being fully conscious while being crushed, the uncertainty of whether he’d ever walk again, the shock of waking into a new, unfamiliar body. They’re difficult to read, but important for understanding what comes next.
Layered into these raw accounts is an at-times polished narrative that occasionally leans more into motivational messaging than messy, human truth. Again and again, Renner frames his recovery as proof that positivity, breathwork, and reframing can get anyone through the worst of it. He clearly believes this – and it helped him survive. Good.
The book doesn’t always interrogate the nuance of this story though – and maybe it shouldn’t, because this is Renner’s story, after all. Yet, I think that when we examine our personal lived experiences, it’s useful, and often important to do so in the wider context of shared human experience.
It doesn’t offer pause in the darker currents of fear, anger, and grief that inevitably accompany trauma and recovery. Instead, it often pivots quickly to a broader message: if he can do it, so can you. For readers who’ve lived through trauma, My Next Breath might feel like it skips over some of the rough, jagged edges. There are hints when Renner mentions moments of wanting to give up, flashes of anger and frustration, but they’re quickly folded into the larger arc of hope and resilience. It’s not wrong, necessarily – it’s just tidy. And tidy isn’t usually how real life goes.
Renner’s near-death experience (NDE) is described as a timeless, peaceful space filled with love, and presented as a moment of profound spiritual clarity. It’s powerful, but also presented through the lens of someone who survived, someone who needs this moment to mean something. This isn’t unique to Renner; it’s what we humans do. We’re pattern-seeking, story-driven creatures, and when we brush up against mortality, we often cling to narratives that reassure us there’s something larger, kinder, waiting on the other side.
And that’s okay. We’re allowed to do that. It’s okay to try and survive in any way you can and to make sense of the awful things that happen to us in ways that allow us to get through the next day, and the next, and the next…
When you investigate the science of ghosts for as long as I have, you eventually come to realise you’ve actually been investigating people’s relationship with death, dying and the dead all along. In My Next Breath there’s an undercurrent of the classic NDE tropes: the peace, the sense of timelessness, the overwhelming love. Renner insists these feelings are real and transformative, and they very likely were for him.
What’s fascinating – and what I’ve seen time and again in this work - is how often these deeply personal, spiritual experiences also line up with what science tells us about how the brain and body behave in moments of extreme trauma. When the body is pushed to the edge, the brain kicks in with some pretty incredible survival tricks. It releases a rush of natural painkillers (endorphins and opioids) that can create a sense of calm and even euphoria. This is one reason many NDEs are described as peaceful rather than just terrifying. At the same time, trauma can temporarily shut down certain brain receptors (like NMDA receptors), changing how we process reality and making us feel detached from our body, almost like we’re floating above it.
Interesting fact: NMDA receptors help control things like learning, memory, and sensation – and blocking them can lead to dissociation or altered consciousness. If you’ve ever taken Ketamine, researchers think that the dissociation, altered perception, and reduced pain you experience is similar to what happens naturally during extreme trauma and near-death. (source)
Brain chemicals like serotonin, glutamate, and adrenaline are also thrown into chaos during trauma, disrupting how we normally sense the world, and sometimes making things feel strangely spiritual or dreamlike. Meanwhile, the amygdala (the fear centre of the brain) ramps up while our prefrontal cortex (the rational thinking part of the brain) goes offline. However, those endorphins mentioned earlier can actually dampen the terror and replace it instead with a weird, gentle calm. Neuroscientific research also suggests that reduced activity in the posterior cortex can produce sensations of timelessness, boundary dissolution, and shifting self-identity – all commonly reported in psychedelic or near-death experiences. (source)
None of this takes away from Renner’s account; rather, it underscores just how remarkable the human brain can be. I actually take a sense of profound comfort from the idea that when the worst happens – when the shit truly hits the fan, your brain might step up and have your back and ease you into whatever is coming next by blunting terror with moments that feel cosmic, timeless, or deeply spiritual. That doesn’t mean they aren’t real; it just means they’re also part of how we survive, and I think it’s beautiful.
In the end, My Next Breath is more than just personal recounting; it’s also a carefully curated public narrative. That doesn’t make it false. It just means it serves more than one purpose: catharsis, personal processing, brand maintenance, and maybe most importantly, a way to keep surviving.
Humans tell stories to keep breathing. Renner’s story is no different. It’s worth reading, especially if you’re curious about how we shape our brushes with death into something we can live with. Just remember: sometimes what’s left unsaid is as telling as what makes it onto the page.
Recommended Reading:
• Turns out near-death experiences are psychedelic, not religious | WIRED
• What Near-Death Experiences Reveal about the Brain | Scientific American
• The new science of death: ‘There’s something happening in the brain that makes no sense’ | The Guardian