"We are dancing to be free—not to be perfect, cool, defended, or guarded!"
Lucy has been dancing since she was five years old. In 2010, she bought a Boulder, Colorado-based dance studio after receiving her master’s degree in psychology. Her psychology background informs her therapeutic and cathartic teaching style that led to the birth of Dance To Be Free (DTBF). She has brought DTBF to 24 prisons across the United States since 2015.
Lucy has been an invited speaker at conferences and meetings including Emerging Women and the first-ever live-streamed TEDx Talk at the Nebraska Correctional Center for Women. Her important work is increasingly recognized throughout the prison industrial complex.
Dance To Be Free‘s mission is to help people in prison heal from trauma through cathartic music and movement. By implementing programming in prisons across the country, DTBF works with hundreds of men and women from Hawaii to Florida. The organization’s goal is to pass the baton of leadership onto their participants and graduates, enabling them to maintain the program on a weekly basis through peer-to-peer teaching. Dance To Be Free celebrated its 10th anniversary in March 2025!
Dance, movement, and music have been part of the human fabric for millennia, and at the group level, participation in dance is a way to express and share feelings and emotions with others. It is not by coincidence that dance has been such an integral part of human ceremonies and rites of passage. Over the last century, with increased recognition of its therapeutic value, dance therapy has evolved into an evidence-based professional discipline.
Dance therapy emphasizes the interconnections between movement and emotions, and at the group level, focuses on resocialization and integration within a larger group system. Volumes of international research support the use of dance therapy for physical and mental health. In one of the largest meta-analyses to date, combining 41 trials involving 2,374 participants, dance therapy was shown to be effective in reducing anxiety and improving depression, quality of life, communication skills, and interpersonal skills. In recent years the research has extended to carceral and forensic settings, with similar benefits reported.
How did you initially create the vision of bringing dance to incarcerated communities?
Lucy Wallace: I’ve been dancing since I was five years old. I majored in dance but stopped in my 20s and felt completely lost—I had no idea what to do with my life. During this period I also went to graduate school for transpersonal psychology at Naropa University and found my way back to dance again. I found an incredible teacher in Boulder and fell back in love with this medium of expression. Eighteen years ago, in 2007, I became a dance teacher (something I never thought I would do!), and then in 2010, I had the opportunity to purchase the studio in Boulder, Colorado, where I had been teaching. In an effort to diversify our offerings, I stumbled upon the idea to build out a nonprofit arm of our work.
One day, during a completely unrelated meeting, a colleague suggested that I bring dance to women in prison. In that moment, I knew without a doubt that this was what I was meant to do. I had no idea where to start, but the dance community was unbelievably supportive. In 2015, I bought the name Dance To Be Free and was able to get nonprofit status in a month. Soon after, we connected with Denver Women’s Correctional Facility and were able to pilot our programs with one-hour dance classes. During this experience, one of our board members pondered, “What if we teach them how to teach?” That possibility led to our first dance teacher training program in January 2016. From there, we expanded to La Vista in Pueblo, Colorado, followed with expansions to Nebraska, Arkansas, and Mississippi. We are celebrating our tenth anniversary this year, and up to this point we’ve worked in 24 prisons in 13 states and have even expanded our programming to include men. Today we have active programming in Arkansas, Colorado, Nebraska, and Tennessee.
What is it about dance that you feel is different from other interventions? Why is it so impactful?
Lucy Wallace: Most of the people we work with have endured severe trauma. When you’re traumatized, you feel out of control of your own body. Gabor Maté has said that some of the most traumatized people in our society are in prisons—many have a history of severe abuse and now exist in a state of constant nervous system dysregulation. Dance allows them to reclaim a sense of agency over their bodies, to experience freedom even within confinement. There is no expectation to be perfect or performative—it’s about letting go, moving freely, and being fully in the moment.
Dance integrates movement into the stuckness of prison life. It is the perfect trifecta—connecting movement, community, and music. When you’re incarcerated, everything is linear and confined—you walk in lines and live in a box. Dance invites fluidity and freedom, allowing one to feel in control of their body and in a place of empowerment. It allows people to experience joy, to make mistakes, to let go. Many of the people we work with share that they never had permission to express themselves as children, and that this free-form way of moving is deeply healing. The integration of journaling, reflection, and sharing also supports participants in their healing journey.
In addition to dancing, our program incorporates powerful writing prompts as part of our workshops. These include deep, provocative questions like, “What are you allowed to express when you’re dancing that you couldn’t as a child?” I recall one participant sharing, “I feel like I’m an onion being peeled without even knowing I’m being healed.” That’s the magic of dance—it bypasses the intellectualizing and goes straight to the body, where trauma is stored.
Lucy facilitating a dance workshop at the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility.
You recently expanded your programming to include men as well. What has that transition looked like?
Lucy Wallace: Thus far, we have worked with men in Mississippi, Nebraska, and Colorado. Our first training was with veterans in prison, and it was one of the most profound experiences we’ve had. The men were incredibly respectful, cooperative, and open. One man shared, “I just can’t stop smiling.” At the end of our workshops, we have participants write and share poetry, and every single man shared his poem—something that rarely happens. These men have lost everything—they exist in such a highly traumatizing environment, and the way they show up is just real. The music and the movement evokes a quality of rawness that is incredibly moving.
One of our most challenging experiences was at Parchman, a notorious prison in Mississippi that was formerly a slave plantation. Our experience there reflected a chronic understaffing of the prison that interfered with our ability to effectively share our curriculum. It takes coordination and engagement with correctional personnel to not only allow for the program to be available, but also to ensure that it is enjoyed in a safe and beneficial way.
On the other end of the spectrum, we’ve worked with men at The Beacon, a progressive prison in Colorado that houses 120 men. Individuals have earned the opportunity to be there through good behavior, and it’s definitely one of the most inspiring facilities I’ve been to. There is sunlight and color in the space, and individuals are called by their names. We had the privilege of working with a wonderful group—they choreographed beautiful pieces, fully embodied the movements, and were incredibly willing and playful. Sadly, there are talks of shutting this facility down.
What is the greatest challenge you currently face with this work?
Lucy Wallace: The biggest organizational challenge is fundraising. We have a great board, but we need the capacity to hire a full-time grant writer. The biggest challenge with prisons is the insane red tape—every facility has different rules, demographics, and security protocols. The system is chaotic, and staff shortages create burnout and communication breakdowns. Some prisons are incredibly challenging to communicate with due to staff shortages and logistical issues, and the pandemic certainly threw a wrench in our momentum. We joke that the Department of Corrections is actually the “Department of Confusion.” We end up spending a lot of time and energy jumping through hoops so we can actually reach the communities we want to reach!
Can you share more about what the dance teacher training process looks like?
Lucy Wallace: Our training is a two-to-three-day process depending on the inclusion of hands-on choreography sessions. We begin with an opening circle where we introduce our mission and discuss trauma-informed care and the opportunity to heal trauma in the body through movement. We break the ice by showing videos of people dancing with total freedom as a lighthearted way to introduce our offering. We are dancing to be free—not to be perfect, cool, defended, or guarded!
We then explore movement through the elements—fire, earth, air, water, and metal. My intention is always for classes to include a wide range of energies, music, and emotions. Participants reflect on how different songs make them feel, sharing words like grounded, chaotic, or empowered. We gather in a circle and give participants the opportunity to share a word and a free-form movement they associate with it—this could be something like aggressive, spiritual, or determined. We also include thoughtful writing prompts, open-ended discussions about trauma based on the work of teachers like Dr. Bruce Perry, and introductory exercises related to face-and-hand dancing.
On day two, we introduce “cathartic choreography” and encourage a deepening of emotional expression through movement. We show videos of individuals dancing at other prisons to build a greater sense of community across time and place. We also incorporate poetry writing and sharing to encourage creative expression. Some participants naturally step into leadership roles, and we support them in becoming peer teachers. Upon our departure, they create playlists and guide their own classes for peers inside the prisons. Seeing their confidence grow is absolutely incredible.
Incarcerated people at the Mississippi State Penitentiary participating in a DTBF class.
What transformations have you witnessed in the individuals with whom you work?
Lucy Wallace: We’ve had formerly incarcerated women go on to become teachers in our program. Our goal is to have the capacity to hire women once they are released from prisons to be core teachers in our program. One woman we worked with in Omaha, Nebraska, who had been in and out of prison six times, is now running a halfway house and teaching Dance To Be Free at a treatment center. A few women in Fort Collins, Colorado, are teaching at the jail every week. Seeing these women use their own experiences to support others is the most rewarding part of this work. Some of these women are teaching weekly classes to more than 100 peers—they have such a genuine desire to share the power of dance and help in whatever way they can.
On a personal level, what brings you hope during these difficult times?
Lucy Wallace: Sometimes the stories we hear are so heavy, but I am constantly inspired by the people we work with. They’ve lost everything, yet they remain open, willing, and even optimistic. It reminds me that joy can exist in the darkest places. When I am guiding a session in the prisons it feels as if I am in a portal—it’s so intensely engaging and even magical, witnessing the creativity and passion that persists in the face of such difficulty. It is so rewarding to see how much this type of healing really works—I feel a palpable shift in participants even on the first day; there is a loosening of the grip, a release of fear, and a surrender to enjoyment.
I think about a moment during one of our sessions in the men’s prison when we shared a clip from a documentary about daughters visiting their incarcerated fathers. It was deeply moving for participants, and following the clip we played the song “Grief is Only Love with No Place to Go.” Rather than activating the trauma and trying to process it verbally, we were able to move through this heartbreaking moment through dance and somatic expression—you could feel the weight lift in the room. That’s what gives me hope—the ability to find joy in the midst of sorrow.
You’ve worked on some amazing projects, including the Portrait Project. Can you tell us more about this one?
Lucy Wallace: The Portrait Project is an initiative where we take stunning black-and-white photos of incarcerated individuals and pair them with their written reflections, such as, “If you really knew me, you would know…” These statements reveal the individuals’ humanity beyond their convictions. We plan to showcase these portraits at fundraising and awareness events later this year, and hopefully feature the project at local museums, galleries, and at Naropa University.
How has this work changed you?
Lucy Wallace: Before Dance To Be Free, I was lost. This work has given me such a profound sense of purpose. Prior to launching the project, I had never been to a prison nor did I have a family story related to incarceration. It has shown me the power of connection, the resilience of the human spirit, and the transformative potential of movement. It is the most meaningful thing I have ever done, and I am consistently blown away by how much it empowers me to empower others. Connecting with these incredible people who are often voiceless and invisible is profoundly meaningful, and I feel so fortunate to do what I do.
This interview is part of the Nova Institute for Health’s Insight Collaborative for Mental Well-Being project. The Insight Collaborative is supported by a generous seed grant from the Mental Insight Foundation.
Responses
Gosh this is impactful. I’m so glad DTBF and similar programs exist. I imagine it must feel like a hand when you’re drowning to have a program that let’s you put down your guard in a highly guarded environment. Stories like this make me both hopeful and despondent at the same time. Hopeful for a better future and despondent that we allow this level of human suffering.
So glad there are people like Lucy on this planet. Thank you @ari-mays for sharing this remarkable interview. Agree with @aaronschuh — it raises questions about “why?” — why do we allow such suffering, and indeed, why is it cheered on so often?