Your Credentials Are Not Just a Title — They’re a Promise. The Cheyenne Bryant Story

By now, you’ve likely seen the name Cheyenne Bryant circulating across your timeline. If you haven’t caught up, here’s the short version: Bryant, who has built a well-known online presence as a self-identified “Dr.” and mental health personality, appeared on Joe Budden’s podcast and openly stated that she does not hold a therapy license and has no interest in obtaining one. She went further, describing licensure as something that exists primarily so practitioners can bill insurance companies. The clip went viral, and the mental health community — particularly licensed clinicians — responded with a collective, resounding “absolutely not.”

What followed was a press tour of explanations that raised more questions than answers. Bryant later clarified that she considers herself a “psychology expert and life coach,” not a therapist. She acknowledged pursuing her doctorate at Argosy University, an institution that lost its accreditation in 2019 and closed permanently, which she says is why she cannot produce documentation of her degree. When asked directly why she wouldn’t simply provide proof to quiet the noise, her response was straightforward: “My proof is already in my credentials, my degrees, and more than just my title, it’s in how effective I’ve been.”

Effectiveness is not the same as accountability. And in mental health care, that distinction matters more than almost anything else.

Licensure exists for one core reason: to protect the public. When a clinician pursues licensure in any mental health field, whether as a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist, a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, a Licensed Mental Health Counselor, or a Licensed Psychologist — they are submitting themselves to a regulatory process that doesn’t care about their charisma, their social media following, or their celebrity co-signs. That process requires documented graduate-level education from an accredited institution, thousands of hours of supervised clinical experience, rigorous standardized examinations, and an ongoing commitment to ethical practice through continuing education. It also means you can be held accountable. A licensing board can investigate a complaint. A license can be suspended or revoked. There is a mechanism of protection for the people who trust you with their most vulnerable moments.

A life coach has none of that infrastructure. That is not a judgment, coaching is a legitimate field with its own value. But it is a different field, with different boundaries, different scope of practice, and different consequences when those boundaries are crossed. The Jamaican elders say, “Every mickle mek a muckle”; every small thing accumulates into something larger. The same is true of unchecked misrepresentation. Each person who believes they are receiving clinical guidance from a licensed professional when they are not, is a small harm that over time becomes something much larger.

Please note that I am fully aware of what this conversation has become in our community.

The pile-on of Black women is a sport in this culture, and I will not participate in it. I don’t know what is true about Cheyenne Bryant’s full academic and clinical history. I don’t know what she walked through to build her platform. What I do know is that she has a master’s degree, that she has a genuine desire to help people, and that none of that is erased by this conversation. She has done real work. And that real work deserves to be represented honestly.

What I also know is that uplift without honesty is not uplift at all.

When we truly support Black women in this field, we hold each other to the standard. We say, “Sis, your work is valuable AND you need to be clear about what you are and what you are not.” We don’t get to hide behind ambiguity when people are bringing us their depression, their trauma, their marriages, and their children. The stakes are too high. Our communities have been misled for too long by people who meant well but caused harm, and we cannot become that, even with the best intentions.

There is a painful irony embedded in this controversy. Black women are still fighting to be taken seriously as licensed clinicians in mainstream mental health spaces. We fight against imposter syndrome, against underfunding in our practices, against clients who didn’t grow up seeing people who looked like us in therapy. Every licensed Black woman therapist is doing that work while also navigating a cultural landscape that sometimes values relatability over rigor. When someone in our community blurs the line between coaching and clinical practice and does so at scale, with celebrity endorsements, it creates a credibility problem for all of us. It makes our profession look like something anyone can claim.

That is not uplift. That is harm in the name of help.

I think of it like this: a sunflower does not pretend to be a rose. It grows boldly in the direction of its own light, without needing to be something it is not. The real power of this field is in knowing exactly who you are, what you are qualified to offer, and drawing that boundary with clarity and confidence. Whether you are a life coach, a peer support specialist, a therapist, a psychologist, or a psychiatrist; own what you are, do it excellently, and let the people you serve know the difference.

This is what informed consent looks like in real life. The person sitting across from you in your office, on your screen, or in your DMs deserves to know who they are talking to. Not because of a technicality, but because they have a right to make informed decisions about their own mental health care. That right is sacred.

As licensed professionals, we are also stewards of public trust. That means speaking up when the lines are being blurred, even when it is uncomfortable, even when the person in question is someone we like, someone who looks like us, someone who has clearly done meaningful things in the community. Accountability is an act of love. My grandmother would have said it plainly: “Tell di truth and shame di devil.” We honor this work by telling the truth about what it requires.

The Cheyenne Bryant conversation is not going away, and it should not. But I want our community to have it with nuance, with fairness, and with a commitment to protecting the people who will be most affected if we do not get this right. The ones who come to us in crisis, who believe we are who we say we are, and who deserve nothing less than exactly that.

Your credentials are not just a resume line. They are a promise. Protect them. Earn them. And be honest about whether you hold them.

Because the work matters, and so does the truth.