Shrinking, The Best Show That No One Is Watching

Why You Should Be Watching Shrinking (Even Though You Probably Aren't)

As I’ve said before, this blog isn’t just about photography—it’s my creative outlet to talk about the stuff I care about. And this week, I want to talk about the best damn show no one’s watching (but everyone should be): Shrinking.

Coming from the minds of Jason Segel (you know him from Forgetting Sarah Marshall, How I Met Your Mother), Brett Goldstein (Roy f’ing Kent from Ted Lasso), and Bill Lawrence (creator of Scrubs, Ted Lasso, and just general king of emotional comedy). Bill Lawrence has a talent for zeroing in on the messy stuff in life. Scrubs nailed the chaos of your 20s, and Shrinking jumps ahead to your 30s and 40s—aka the era of real loss, life upheaval, and finding out who you are when shit hits the fan.

Jason Segel’s delivery in this show lands somewhere between bored and brilliant. It’s like if Chandler Bing had a masters in psychology and crippling emotional trauma.

Let’s just put it all out there—this show’s been out for over two years. If you haven’t watched it, and you don’t want spoilers, hit pause and go stream the first two seasons on Apple TV+. If you have seen it or you’re just here for the vibes, buckle up.

Meet Jimmy: Grieving, Stuck, and Playing Air Piano with a Bowl of Adderall

The show opens with Jimmy (Segel) sitting at a table next to his pool, playing air piano with a bowl full of Adderall in front of him while a couple of hookers splash around in the water. His house is trashed, his life’s even worse, and he's clearly not doing well.

What we don’t know yet is that Jimmy’s wife, Tia, died a year ago—and he’s been stuck ever since. Not frozen, just numbing himself every way he can. Hookers, pills, booze, avoiding every responsibility, especially the one that matters most: being a dad to his teenage daughter, Alice.

Jimmy is wrecked with grief and drowning in guilt. He knows he’s been MIA. Liz and Derek, the neighbors (and absolute legends), have been more present for Alice than he has. Jimmy’s a smart guy—he knows he’s emotionally stunted, stuck in that awful purgatory where you know things need to change, but you have no clue how to start.

I know that feeling too well. Selling almost everything I owned, buying a bus, getting a new camera, and deciding, “I’m gonna be a photographer,” like some jackass who thinks chasing a dream is that easy. It took me a year just to get this website up, even though I had photos ready to go. I was stuck, just like Jimmy.

Shortcuts That Don’t Work (But Make for Damn Good TV)

When Jimmy finally decides something’s gotta give, he looks outward instead of inward. And that’s where things start to spiral. He starts giving his patients "unfiltered advice"—telling a woman to leave her toxic husband, sending an angry client to MMA training. It feels bold, almost heroic… until the dominoes start falling.

These aren't therapeutic breakthroughs; they’re emotional shortcuts. He wants to fix them because fixing himself is harder. But the show is smart—it never lets him off the hook.

Avoiding the People Who Know You Best

Enter Brian. Jimmy’s best friend, who he hasn’t talked to in almost a year. Jimmy’s been dodging Brian just like he’s been dodging Alice. Because those two? They’re walking, talking reminders of life before Tia died.

Being real with friends when you’re falling apart is brutal. They know you too well. They know the next step you need to take, and sometimes you’re just not ready to hear it. When you’re deep in the shit, you almost find comfort in staying there. It's like sadness becomes familiar, and that kind of stuckness has a weird grip on you. No one can drag you out of it until you’re ready.

Jimmy wasn’t ready—so he avoided. But life keeps throwing curveballs, and avoiding only works for so long.

Season 1: Grief

Those patient stories I mentioned? They blow up in his face, in totally different ways. But each explosion pushes Jimmy toward facing what he’s really been doing—and what he hasn’t been.

By the end of Season 1, Jimmy owns it. He’s been a shit friend to Brian, a shit therapist to his clients, and most of all, a shit dad to Alice. She didn’t just lose her mom—she lost her dad too, because he shut down when she needed him most.

Season 2: Forgiveness

Season 2 brings in a new character—Louis, the drunk driver who hit Tia. You think the arc is going to be about Jimmy learning to forgive this guy. But no. That’s the misdirect. Jimmy’s real task is forgiving himself.

And that’s heavy.

I’ve said before that self-talk isn’t my strong suit. I’m hard on myself to a fault, and forgiving myself feels next to impossible. You have to get brutally honest about what you’re even trying to forgive—and that is its own Herculean effort.

Jimmy starts to do the work. He accepts what he’s done (and not done). And before he asks others for forgiveness, he starts figuring out how to fix it. Because if you don’t have a plan in place to keep from sliding back into the same old mess, asking for forgiveness is just words. I heard that once in a 12-step program, and it’s stuck with me.

The truth is, most of us can’t pull ourselves out of grief alone. We need people—the overbearing mom-next-door, the disgustingly confident best friend, the reluctant but wise mentor. The village matters. But you’ve gotta be open to it.

Final Thoughts (aka Just Go Watch It Already)

I don’t know if I was able to fully get across just how good this show is—but Shrinking is something special. It’ll make you laugh way too hard, and if you’re anything like me, it’ll also have you ugly crying by the Season 2 finale.

If you’ve ever felt stuck, lost, or like you’re just winging it through grief—give Shrinking a shot. It hits all the right nerves, and maybe even helps you take that next step.