Fact Check Me: There is No Right Way Through the Maze

Are you watching Shrinking? On the surface, it’s a show about therapists and their own mental health. The show touches grief, addiction, Parkinson’s, resentment — all the quiet neurosis we try to hide, ignore, or outwork.

Emotional tissue that goes without oxygen because we’re too proud, too scared, or too busy pretending we’re fine. But that’s just the packaging. The real story isn’t about therapy. It’s about permission.

The therapists struggle, spiral, overstep. They break rules, grieve poorly and react instead of respond. And yet — they still help people. That’s important. Because somewhere along the way we were sold the idea that you must be fully healed before you’re useful. You need to be composed before you’re credible. That perfection is the goal and appearance is what matters.

Shrinking quietly dismantles that lie. The characters aren’t perfect — but they are self aware. They name their issues. Own them. Even lean into them. And that’s the lesson. You cannot move through something you refuse to name. Grief shrinks when it’s acknowledged. Shame loses power when it’s spoken out loud. Fear becomes navigable once you admit it’s there.

Awareness doesn’t solve everything — but it gives you traction. And yet, even that isn’t the best part of the show. The best part is the way this group carries their baggage openly — and accepts each other almost without question. They call each other out, sure. But they don’t enable or coddle. There’s no exile behind their honesty. No threat of abandonment. “Of course you’re messy.” “We know you’re scared.” “Sit down. We’re still here.” That kind of love is rare. Most of the world runs on conditional acceptance. You're expected to be impressive, stable, agreeable. Be useful. Not make it awkward. Don’t take up too much emotional space.

But this crew? They assume the mess. You’re allowed to spiral and still come to dinner. You can screw up and still be invited back. Allowed to be yourself — unapologetically. That’s not therapy. That’s community.

And then there’s the maze. The credits show different ways of navigating it — walking the path, climbing the walls, digging tunnels, flying over, wandering with someone beside you. A maze implies there’s a correct route. But the animation suggests something else entirely: There is no right way through your mind. No one path or solution. You can grieve loudly or quietly. Rage or withdraw. Move fast or stall for a while. You can ask for help or figure it out slowly. You can walk alone or link arms. None of those are wrong.

We live in an era obsessed with solutions. Everyone is selling a framework, a mindset shift, a 10-step fix for whatever hurts. Optimize your emotions. Upgrade your trauma. Monetize your healing. But Shrinking shrugs at all of that. It doesn’t hand you a master plan. It says something simpler: Choose to live. Keep moving. Accept help. Be there for the people you care about. Healing isn’t a product. It’s participation. It’s showing up when you’d rather isolate. Forgiving yourself when you regress. It’s staying engaged when numbing out would be easier. Letting people see you — even when you’re not polished.

In a world selling perfection, the show makes a quieter argument: The fact that you’re trying is what matters. Not how cleanly you navigate the maze. Not how impressive you look doing it. Whether you climbed the wall or dug the tunnel is less important than the fact that you chose to take action. You didn’t stop moving. And you didn't walk it alone in the dark.