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Cynthia Moore’s life, as recounted in her memoir Dancing on Coals, is a compelling narrative of resilience and self-discovery, a journey that has taken her from the bright lights of the theater stage to the quiet intensity of the therapist’s office. With a background as an award-winning playwright, performer, and now author, Moore possesses a unique perspective, weaving together the dramatic flair of her theatrical past with the profound insights gained from decades as a mental health counselor. Her book, endorsed by her friend and former collaborator Whoopi Goldberg, offers a candid and often humorous exploration of overcoming dysfunctional patterns, navigating turbulent relationships, and ultimately, finding a hard-won peace.
Moore’s motivation for writing Dancing on Coals, she explains, was driven by a deep need for self-understanding. The book became an excavation of her past, a quest to unravel the complex threads of her experiences and find meaning within them.
The structure of Dancing on Coals is notable, beginning not with childhood or early struggles, but with Moore’s present-day “domestic bliss.” This deliberate choice, she reveals, was intended to provide a “teaching story,” a beacon of hope for those who have spent years feeling like outsiders, struggling to fit into systems that don’t fully embrace them. Moore’s own experience of navigating male-dominated theater groups, where acceptance came at the cost of self-censorship, informs this perspective. The book’s ending, she emphasizes, is a testament to the possibility of self-acceptance and inner peace, a destination reached after a long and challenging journey.
Moore’s early attraction to theater, she recounts, was almost intoxicating. At the age of six, a role in a touring production of The King and I ignited a passion that felt akin to an addiction. The late nights, the theatrical makeup, the sheer thrill of performance – all served as a powerful allure.
When pressed on how a six-year-old might process such an intense experience, Moore offers a poignant insight: it felt like love. Growing up in a family of origin where love was scarce, the theater became a substitute, a source of affirmation and belonging. While she acknowledges that this early pursuit of external validation may have led her down a “bit of a wrong direction,” she ultimately views her theatrical journey as a valuable and transformative experience.
Moore describes her life’s journey as a quest to find her authentic voice, a voice initially sought in the often-masculine world of theater. The performative, extroverted, and physically demanding nature of this environment required her to adopt a persona, a “masculine version of a voice” that, while initially exciting, ultimately felt inauthentic.
A pivotal moment arrived in midlife, mirroring Carl Jung’s concept of a shift from an outward, ego-driven focus to an inward, soul-centered exploration. This “bold pivot” led Moore to become a therapist, a profession that demanded and cultivated authenticity and vulnerability. Dancing on Coals is, in many ways, a record of this transformation, a narrative that uses humor to confront pain and trauma. The highest praise, she notes, comes from readers who report laughing aloud.
The memoir’s subtitle, “The Memoir of an Over Performer,” is explained through the Buddhist concept of the “Hungry Ghost,” an insatiable being driven by craving and striving. The title itself comes from an Anne Waldman poem, “Sleeping with the Hungry Ghost,” which vividly depicts this restless, yearning figure. This concept, Moore reveals, resonates deeply with her own experiences.
Moore’s intellectual curiosity and extensive knowledge are evident in her conversation. She attributes this to a rigorous British education system in The Bahamas, where academic success was paramount. This emphasis on intellectual development, she believes, contributed to her strong prefrontal cortex, a trait she has continued to cultivate.
The evolution of Moore’s sense of self, she explains, is a central theme of her book. Initially, her self-perception was heavily influenced by external validation, a common human tendency. Gradually, however, this outward focus shifted inward, culminating in the development of what psychologists call a “felt sense” – an internal awareness of integration, integrity, and authenticity. This inner sense of self, she suggests, is akin to confidence, a reliable foundation upon which to build one’s life.
Moore’s candid portrayal of her difficult relationships with her parents is a powerful aspect of her memoir. Writing about these experiences, she reveals, was a crucial part of her healing process, leading to a sense of forgiveness. She came to understand that her parents, like all humans, were doing the best they could with the resources they had. In particular, she finds humor in portraying her mother, an “entertainer of sorts,” a characterization she believes her mother would have appreciated.
The arrival of her husband, David, at the age of 33, marked a significant turning point in Moore’s life. David’s inherent calm and peacefulness had a profound effect on her, calming her own “dysregulated” nervous system. After 33 years of striving and flailing, she recognized in him the person with whom she wanted to build a life. Determined to break the pattern of divorce and failed marriages prevalent in her family, Moore embraced the idea that “love is a verb,” an active and ongoing commitment. The success of their 43-year marriage, she proudly states, is a testament to this dedication.
Moore acknowledges the reality that even in loving relationships, moments of friction and dislike are inevitable. Her approach to navigating these challenges involved a significant amount of “processing,” a term familiar to those who have experience with therapy.
She defines “processing” as a thorough and often detailed exploration of events and feelings, even seemingly minor ones. Rather than allowing discomfort or anger to fester, processing involves open communication, taking ownership of one’s own contributions to the situation, and seeking to understand the underlying dynamics and patterns within the relationship. This commitment to honest and transparent communication, she believes, has been a cornerstone of her marriage.
Moore’s decision to leave the world of theater and pursue a career in psychology stemmed from a sense of burnout. She was weary of the constant scrutiny, the external validation, the power of reviews and opinions to dictate her sense of self-worth. Psychology, with its focus on the internal world, offered a welcome respite, an opportunity for deep exploration of the psyche and the unconscious.
She describes psychology as a “home base,” a world she finds both fascinating and deeply fulfilling. The work of a therapist, she explains, involves a process of “excavation,” carefully examining a comment, a phrase, or a feeling to uncover its origins and impact. The ultimate goal is to help clients explore whether their current emotional landscape is where they want to “land” and to facilitate a shift towards greater ease and joy.
Moore vividly recalls the moment when her passion for psychology was ignited. Initially intending to take only one class, an Introduction to Psychology course, she was immediately captivated by the theories of Freud, Adler, and Sullivan. However, it was the experience of group therapy that truly resonated with her. The ensemble nature of group therapy, the fluidity and flexibility of relationships within the group, mirrored her experience in theater, creating a profound sense of connection and belonging.
Many performers, Moore acknowledges, are driven by a deep-seated sense of unworthiness and imposter syndrome. Her psychology education, she reveals, provided her with the tools to confront this unworthiness directly.
Drawing on her experience with meditation, a practice she has maintained for 38 years, she emphasizes the importance of “sitting in the fire,” of embracing uncomfortable emotions rather than avoiding them. Unworthiness, she explains, is a prime example. Instead of running from it through various distractions, the key is to turn towards it, to fully experience the pain and discomfort. Paradoxically, this direct confrontation can lead to a breakthrough, an “almost sigh of opening and acceptance.”
When asked if she still experiences moments of over-performing, Moore admits that the tendency occasionally resurfaces. However, she emphasizes that she is no longer driven by that need for external validation.
To help others confront their fears and insecurities, Moore employs a combination of cognitive therapy, where clients discuss their experiences, and somatic work, where they are guided to explore the physical sensations associated with those emotions.
She describes a typical scenario where a client might discuss feelings of unworthiness. Moore might then ask them to close their eyes, “drop into” that feeling, and describe its physical manifestations. This process of naming and embodying emotions allows for a more visceral and personal encounter.
Moore emphasizes the importance of creating a safe space for clients to explore these vulnerable places, acknowledging that the desire to avoid discomfort is a natural human tendency. However, she reassures them that by confronting these emotions, they can ultimately find relief and healing.
A key element of Moore’s approach is the concept of the “bigger self,” a compassionate and expansive aspect of the self that can hold and contain the “little wounded place” of unworthiness or pain. By experiencing both the pain and the capacity to hold that pain with compassion, clients can undergo a transformative shift. This, she explains, is the “magic” that meditation has taught her.
Moore addresses the common fear that authors face when confronted with the blank page, the anxiety that their creative well has run dry. However, she reveals that she finds a sense of possibility and excitement in beginnings.
Drawing on her experience teaching writing, she advocates for writing from the “deep unconscious,” from a state of “flow,” from the heart, rather than solely from the prefrontal cortex. This approach involves surrendering to something larger than oneself, allowing inspiration to emerge from a deeper source, a place where the “muse” resides. When writing flows from this place, she suggests, it feels less like an act of will and more like a process of channeling.
The ability to access this state of creative flow, Moore believes, is connected to the practice of meditation and other techniques that facilitate a “dropping in,” a shift to a deeper level of consciousness.
Moore acknowledges the elusive nature of the meditative state, the fleeting moments of mental stillness that are so difficult to maintain. Drawing an analogy to enlightenment, she describes it as a “fluid process,” a state that comes and goes.
She embraces this fluidity, recognizing that the journey is not about achieving a permanent state of emptiness, but about developing the ability to return to that state more frequently through consistent practice.
Moore offers a powerful metaphor for the tendency to project a false image of self, describing the “superhero outfit” we often don each day to face the world. Her advice for those seeking the courage to be authentic is simple yet profound: “Trust yourself.”
Quoting her daughter, she emphasizes the importance of tapping into the strength and wisdom that resides within, the “something big” that moves through each of us. By trusting this inner force, she suggests, we can shed the need for pretense.
Building self-trust, Moore acknowledges, is a process, particularly in the face of past “woundings” and “bumps along the road.” The key, she reiterates, is to quiet the “mental chatter,” the endless stream of self-criticism and doubt that fuels insecurity.
Silence, she believes, creates space to connect with a deeper sense of being, a feeling of being held by something greater, whether it is called silence, stillness, or divine presence. This experience of being held, she suggests, is the essence of trust.
Acknowledging the “interesting times” we live in, characterized by fear and uncertainty, Moore offers practical advice for coping. She emphasizes the crucial importance of learning to regulate our nervous systems, which are constantly bombarded by the intensity of the news cycle.
She advocates for a “frugal” and “judicious” approach to news consumption, particularly avoiding visual content that can be overwhelming. Furthermore, she stresses the need to develop skills for self-soothing, for consciously shifting from a state of “fight or flight” to one of “ease and relaxation.”
Moore outlines a simple yet effective three-step practice for cultivating inner peace:
- Know where you are: Acknowledge your current emotional state, even if it is one of high anxiety.
- Take a breath, come into your body: Shift your focus from the racing mind to the present moment, noticing physical sensations, sights, sounds, smells.
- Use calming images or mantras: Employ words or visuals that promote relaxation and safety, retraining the nervous system to move towards a state of ease.
These practices, she believes, are essential tools for navigating the challenges of our time.
Finally, Moore emphasizes the power of connection and deep listening. In a world often characterized by superficial interactions, genuine conversations, marked by thoughtful and probing questions, can be profoundly healing.
Ultimately, Moore hopes that readers of Dancing on Coals will experience a visceral understanding of the journey from desperation and striving to calm and peacefulness. She wants to impart the message that this transformation is possible for everyone, and she hopes to elicit a few laughs along the way.
Learn more about Cynthia at CynthiaMooreWrites.com.
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