We don’t deploy SEAL teams into action without backup, yet we consistently place healthcare professionals into impossible scenarios and instruct them: do not fail.

I honored camaraderie and collaboration during a Change of Command ceremony this week—filled with respect, tradition, and those poignant reminders of what it entails to lead. However, one repetitive statement resonated with me: “This is a no-fail mission.”

It intends to motivate. It strives to ignite a fire beneath the burden of responsibility. And in certain circumstances—combat operations, surgical crises, landing a plane on a moving vessel—it undeniably applies. You need that clarity. That immediacy. That pinpoint focus.

But at some point, we began to adopt that mentality across entire healthcare frameworks. And that’s where issues begin to unravel.

Because a genuine no-fail mission—the kind that makes your heart race—is fortified by a comprehensive ecosystem of preparation and resources. There’s an intricate structure of logistics, backups, training pathways, and financial support to ensure the mission’s success. There are plans from A to Z. The personnel are prepared. The framework is robust.

Now let’s discuss healthcare.

Let’s consider what it means to operate a major medical facility today, or even to be a part of one. Are we equipped as a no-fail mission necessitates? Do we possess the staff, the funding, the time, the flexibility within the system?

Spoiler alert: we do not.

Indeed, there are instances in medicine that must be no-fail—a neonatal resuscitation, an urgent operation, managing a code. In those instances, we respond. We strategize. We implement. And we frequently achieve miracles.

But when we begin to label the routine activities of an under-resourced, overstretched organization as a “no-fail mission”? When we instruct individuals that they cannot fail, yet provide them none of the tools, support, or safety net essential for success?

We create a perilous contradiction.

Because here’s what transpires when failure is not an option: Individuals cease to take risks. They conceal errors. They overburden themselves to stay afloat. They erode their own humanity in pursuit of unyielding performance. And they start to convince themselves that perfection is the standard, rather than the exception.

This is how we cultivate burnout. This is how creativity withers. This is how skilled, dedicated individuals depart.

And ironically, this is how no-fail missions begin to falter.

What we truly need—if we value the mission—is not just excellence. It’s psychological safety. It’s the ability to learn. To recuperate. To rest. To embrace humanity within a system that frequently requires the extraordinary.

Yes, we must uphold high standards. Yes, we will still encounter critical times where failure isn’t an option. But long-term viability necessitates more than pressure—it requires protection.

Let me emphasize that again for those at the back: we cannot sustain ongoing no-fail missions on empty.

Instead, we need to reshape the mission. Helping your child cross the street? No-fail. Executing a high-risk surgery? No-fail. But developing a team, leading a department, managing a medical facility in today’s environment? That requires space to breathe. That requires institutional empathy. That requires resources—beginning with psychological ones.

So here’s the directive: If we genuinely aspire to lead effectively, we must broaden our perspective. We must construct systems that bolster the mission and the people who support it. We must cease pretending that perfection is the sole measure of worth. And we must start recognizing psychological safety not as a luxury, but as an essential asset.

Because when we care for our people, they advance the mission.

And that’s the type of success that endures.

Wendy Schofer is a pediatrician and a retired captain in the U.S. Navy.