I just finished the Season 3 finale of Shrinking, the current top Apple TV show starring Harrison Ford, Jason Segel, and Jessica Williams as a trio of therapists in a group practice in LA. There’s been a lot of positive coverage lately about the way Ford depicts Parkinson’s Disease- something his character lives with, though he does not in real life. I agree that he plays that role with a level of grace, respect, and vulnerability that likely resonates with people who have the illness.
And yet…this show really, really pisses me off.
I watch it partly because the writing is sharp and often genuinely funny. But I also watch it with a kind of morbid curiosity, bracing myself to see what new and wildly inappropriate way therapy will be portrayed next. Because Shrinking doesn’t just bend the rules of therapy- it completely abandons them.
Therapists in the show blur, cross, and bulldoze through boundaries in ways that are framed as charming, heartfelt, or even heroic. They socialize with clients. They disclose intimate details of their own lives. They attend parties together, grab drinks, and in one particularly egregious storyline, a therapist invites a client to move into his home.
These are not quirky creative liberties. These are serious ethical violations.
And while Shrinking might be one of the most extreme recent examples, it’s far from alone. From The Sopranos to In Treatment to even the beloved Ted Lasso, fictional therapists are often portrayed as boundary-blurring, overly involved, or emotionally entangled in ways that would raise immediate red flags in real life.
One of the most harmful misconceptions these shows reinforce is the idea that therapy is- or should feel like- a friendship. But it’s not. And it’s not supposed to be. Your therapist is not there to process their life with you. They are not there to become part of your social world. They are not there to meet their own emotional needs through the relationship.
Therapy is a professional, structured, and intentional relationship designed to center your needs, your growth, your safety, and your healing. It may feel warm, connected, and deeply human (and ideally, it does). That structure isn’t cold- it’s protective.
Ethics and boundaries in therapy are often misunderstood as rigid rules meant to protect therapists from getting sued. But that’s not their primary purpose. Boundaries exist to protect the therapeutic space itself. They create a container where:
- You can be vulnerable without worrying about taking care of your therapist
- Power dynamics are acknowledged rather than ignored
- Emotional safety is prioritized
- Trust can develop in a predictable, reliable way
When those boundaries are crossed- especially by the therapist- it can be confusing at best, and deeply harmful at worst. Because when therapy starts to feel like a friendship, it often means the therapist is meeting their own needs in the relationship. And that shifts the focus away from the client in subtle but significant ways.
The kinds of scenarios portrayed casually in TV shows aren’t just “unconventional” in real life- they are often classified as therapy harm. This can include dual relationships (like socializing outside of therapy), excessive self-disclosure, emotional dependency or enmeshment, and boundary violations that escalate over time. When these things happen, clients can experience confusion about what’s appropriate, difficulty trusting future providers, shame or self-blame, and real psychological harm.
And there are consequences. Therapists who engage in these behaviors can face licensing board investigations, lose their credentials, or be legally held accountable. So while it might make for compelling TV, it’s not harmless storytelling. It shapes expectations, and sometimes, it normalizes harm.
Real therapy is often much quieter than what we see on screen. It looks like showing up, even when you don’t know what to say, sitting with difficult emotions rather than fixing them immediately, moving slowly and building trust over time, and revisiting patterns, histories, and relationships with care and intention. It’s not dramatic monologues and life-altering advice every session. It’s not spontaneous road trips or boundary-crossing “breakthrough” moments. It’s consistent. Grounded. Sometimes uncomfortable. Often deeply meaningful. And importantly- it’s safe.
There’s another piece of this portrayal that often goes unquestioned: therapists in media are almost always depicted as affluent, polished, and comfortably upper-class. Beautiful homes. Designer clothes. Private practices with floor-to-ceiling windows in major cities. That reality exists for some, but it’s far from the full picture.
Many therapists are working in community mental health agencies, nonprofits, schools, hospitals, and child welfare systems.They’re often underpaid, often overworked, and often carrying high-risk, high-need caseloads with limited resources and support. Before private practice ever becomes an option, many clinicians spend years in these systems, doing emotionally intense, sometimes dangerous, and frequently thankless work because they care deeply about access and equity in mental health care. That reality rarely makes it to screen.
Media doesn’t just entertain us- it shapes our understanding of what’s normal, what’s possible, and what we should expect. When therapy is portrayed as boundaryless, overly intimate, or “rule-breaking” in a feel-good way, it can deter people from seeking therapy, create unrealistic expectations, and make it harder to recognize harmful dynamics. Good therapy doesn’t need to be sensationalized to be powerful. In fact, its power often lies in the very things TV tends to skip over: consistency, boundaries, care, and ethical responsibility.
If you’ve ever wondered whether something in therapy felt “off,” or if what you’re seeing on screen doesn’t match your experience, you’re not wrong to question it. You deserve a therapeutic space that is safe, ethical, and truly centered on you. And therapists deserve media that accurately portrays what we do without oversensationalizing it.
