Earlier this month, before a day of team coaching, I found myself looking out at a quiet swimming pool. The surface was perfectly still. Sunlight cut across the water. And against all that calm, tied to a palm tree, a bright orange lifesaver ring stood out. Ready, waiting.
Many of us who lead, coach, or collaborate know that ring well. Not because we’ve thrown one, but because we carry one, metaphorically, everywhere we go.
We are the ones who can’t bear to see someone struggle. The colleague who steps in to fix the problem, smooth the conflict, steady the team. We mean well. It’s often how we first earned our worth, through competence, care, and control. But that ring is also a warning.
The Drama Beneath the Surface
In Karpman’s Drama Triangle, the Rescuer plays alongside two other roles: the Victim and the Persecutor. It’s a cycle that begins with good intentions and ends with exhaustion or resentment.
When we leap in to rescue, we unconsciously affirm someone’s helplessness. We remove their chance to find their own strength. We may even create the very drama we hoped to dissolve.
Over time, our help can turn heavy. The Victim resents our control. The Persecutor feels provoked by our interference. And we, the Rescuer, end up frustrated that the team doesn’t seem to learn or appreciate our effort. That’s when we realize: we’ve stopped coaching and started saving.
Standing by that pool, I thought about the ring’s real purpose. It’s there just in case. Not to prevent swimming, but to make it possible. Its presence allows people to go deeper, knowing safety is near, not certain, but near enough.
That’s what the best leaders and team coaches offer: psychological safety, not rescue. When we stop trying to save, we make room for others to swim. We trust that the water will hold them, that struggle is part of the learning, that discovery comes with discomfort. We remain watchful not because we expect disaster, but because we care.
The Reversal of Roles
Every rescuer learns this truth eventually: You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to swim. And sometimes, the one who needs saving is you.
When teams grow, when people claim their own power, the rescuer must let go of the ring. That’s often the hardest part — to stay present and compassionate while resisting the impulse to jump in. To trade control for curiosity, relief for reflection.
The Lifebuoy Lesson
So I’ve come to see that lifebuoy as both a comfort and a challenge. A reminder that in the work of teams, our task is to hold the boundary between safety and struggle. To notice when our help becomes interference, when our compassion turns into control. Because real growth doesn’t come from being rescued. It comes from knowing that, if we falter, someone will reach but not rob us of our chance to swim.
Reflection for leaders and team members alike:
When your colleagues start to struggle, will you rush in with the ring or can you trust the water long enough to let them find their own stroke?