About “Shrinking” in a few words:

Shrinking follows Jimmy, a therapist dealing with grief who decides to throw professional boundaries out the window and start telling his clients exactly what he thinks. Surprisingly… it kind of works. Alongside his colleagues and friends, he navigates loss, healing, and human connection in a way that’s equal parts heartfelt and chaotic. It’s funny, a little painful, and very real — like life, just slightly more unhinged.

Meet the characters from Shrinking

Jimmy

Jimmy is this glorious mess of a therapist who says the things everyone thinks but nobody has the gall to actually say — and then immediately apologizes, or doesn’t, depending on the cliche. He’s grieving and oddly tender under a facade of sarcasm and blunt, late-night honesty; like, he’ll dismantle your defenses and then bring you soup. He fumbles through life with a coffee mug in hand and a rulebook he keeps losing, yet somehow people keep trusting him (which is either inspiring or terrifying). Also he has a ridiculous knack for saying the worst possible thing at the perfect emotional moment — impressive? frustrating? yes to both.

Gaby

Gaby is sunshine with edges — effusive, fiercely loyal, and the kind of person who will cheer you on and then secretly Google everything about your problem at 2 a.m. She’s endlessly optimistic but not naive; she knows how to set boundaries, except when she forgets them or pretends she doesn’t (classic). She multitasks like a wizard, can craft a spreadsheet and a playlist in the same breath, and has weird hobbies that pop up, like knitting beanies for no reason. You kind of want to be her friend and also sometimes hide when she starts a pep talk, but mostly you laugh and agree and then feel better — or suspiciously more energized.

Paul

Paul is low-key, dry, a little sardonic and very protective of the small, precious order he maintains in a chaotic world. He likes routines, making lists, and complaining about newfangled nonsense, though he definitely breaks his own rules sometimes (late-night takeout, please). Despite a grumpy exterior he’s soft for the people he cares about — you’ll see it in the tiny, almost invisible favors he does without making a thing of it. He drops one-liners like casualties of war and somehow they land, and also he has a dumb collection of novelty spoons he denies owning.

Sean

Sean is that earnest, half-overwhelmed friend who tries really hard and wears his heart on his sleeve — in a sensible sweater, usually. He’s detail-oriented, a little anxious, the guy who rewrites his notes five times and forgets his keys twice; charmingly inconsistent. Brave in quiet ways, he asks the awkward questions people avoid and then cringes about them for days (but also grows because of it). Also, small reveal: he carries mints and a fact-sheet on obscure trivia that he will absolutely use to win a bar quiz, for reasons unknown.

Brian

Brian is blunt, a little rough around the edges, and somehow also the most dad-like presence in the room even if he’s not actually a dad — protective, grumpy, and bad at emojis. He can seem immovable and stubborn but will improbably drop everything to help someone in crisis; he swears a lot and then sends flowers the next day. He loves rules and hates change, except when he spontaneously books a road trip and acts like it was all part of The Plan. Quirky detail: he insists on keeping an ancient, totally unnecessary planner even though he uses his phone calendar more than anything, which is both vintage and perplexing.

Alice

Alice is sharp, witty, and quietly ferocious — the person who spots the structural problem in a conversation and then fixes it while making you laugh. She’s ambitious and competent but also secretly terrified a lot of the time, which makes her moments of tenderness feel huge and real (and a little surprising). She collects books like they’re tiny weapons and has an alarming karaoke repertoire that she will unleash after three drinks, to great and confusing effect. Also she can be both immaculately organized and suddenly scatterbrained, which makes her endlessly relatable and slightly unpredictable — in a good way.