Allowing Ourselves to Shrink—So We Don’t Break

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the idea of shrinking. Not in the sense of becoming smaller or less capable, but rather pulling inward just enough to remain whole. That idea stayed with me after watching Shrinking, a show on Apple TV that explores grief, humanity, and the imperfect ways professionals try to care for others while carrying their own weight.

In oncology pharmacy, we are conditioned to expand our scope, our expertise, our availability, and often our emotional capacity. We take pride in being the steady presence in high-stakes moments, the ones who catch what others miss, and the ones who can always be relied on. Over time, that expansion can quietly become unsustainable. And yet, shrinking—specifically, setting limits, naming strain, and admitting uncertainty—can feel uncomfortably close to failure.

What Shrinking captures so well is that professionalism and humanity are not opposing forces. Although the behaviors depicted would not always translate directly into clinical practice, the underlying truth resonates that pretending we are unaffected does not protect us—it simply postpones the cost.

In our work, we carry cumulative exposure to suffering, loss, urgency, and responsibility. We rarely label that as grief, but it often is. Instead, we push forward, reframing it as resilience or “the price” of meaningful work. But resilience does not require constant expansion—sometimes it requires discernment. This is knowing when to narrow our focus, when to step back, and when to let go of the idea that everything must be carried at once.

This moment, professionally and societally, also asks something of us. We are practicing in a time of heightened tension, uncertainty, and polarization. Advocacy has never been more important, particularly for patient access, equity, and the future of cancer care. At the same time, listening has never been more essential. Listening to perspectives different from our own, from colleagues who are tired, and from patients whose experiences challenge our assumptions. Shrinking, in this context, may mean pausing long enough to truly hear one another before responding.

As a profession, we are known for our rigor, our innovation, and our unwavering commitment to patients. But sustainability in this work depends on more than endurance; it depends on our willingness to care for ourselves and for one another with the same intentionality we bring to our clinical decisions.

Before closing, I want to pause to thank you. I am continually humbled by the people who take time out of demanding days to read these reflections. Your engagement, messages, and quiet presence remind me that this community is thoughtful, generous, and deeply invested in the future of oncology pharmacy. It is a privilege to share this space with you.

As we move forward, perhaps shrinking is not a retreat but a recalibration. It’s not doing less that matters, but rather focusing on what matters most, with clarity, compassion, and care. So that we don’t break.