Dr. Cheyenne Bryant, Legitimacy & The Black Therapist

Watching the recent discourse surrounding Dr. Cheyenne made me reflect on the complicated relationship many people now have with legitimacy, trust and healing professions. On one hand, I understand why people care deeply about credentials and safety mechanisms within mental health spaces. People have been harmed by institutions before. Many people distrust medical systems, therapeutic systems and authority itself, sometimes for very legitimate reasons. That distrust can then spill over onto practitioners, including ethical, qualified professionals who are genuinely trying to help.

At the same time, the conversations also made me think about how intensely therapists and helping professionals are scrutinized. We are often expected to be simultaneously human and superhuman. We are expected to be knowledgeable but humble, warm but emotionally contained, relatable but professional, confident but never too visible. In many ways, therapists are asked to carry enormous emotional, ethical and psychological expectations while often receiving very little discussion around our own mental health and wellbeing.

As a Black man working in mental health and social services, these conversations also resonated with me differently. There have been moments throughout my career where I have felt questioned, policed and scrutinized in ways that extended beyond ordinary professionalism. I have had institutions ask for copies of degrees, credentials and proof in ways that made me reflect more deeply on who society imagines as legitimate healers in the first place.

I believe part of this tension is connected to how Black men are socially positioned within Western society. Too often, Black men are constructed as recipients of intervention rather than custodians of healing. We are frequently imagined through stereotypes tied to danger, instability, pathology or dysfunction before we are seen as intellectuals, therapists, caregivers or scholars. Meanwhile, legitimacy in helping professions is often unconsciously connected to whiteness, institutional authority and particular performances of professionalism. In many ways, simply existing publicly as a Black male therapist disrupts dominant narratives around who is “supposed” to hold emotional authority.

At the same time, my experiences did not make me ashamed of being Black. In fact, they strengthened my understanding of why culturally responsive mental health services are needed in the first place. Many Black and Brown people in Canada navigate microaggressions, institutional neglect, exclusion and racial fatigue in silence. For some clients, entering a therapeutic space and seeing someone who understands parts of their cultural reality without excessive explanation can itself feel healing. That is one of the reasons I remain deeply proud of New Chapter. It has allowed me not only to work as a counsellor, but also as an educator, advocate and activist within communities that are too often underserved.

From a decolonial perspective, it is also important to remember that healing did not begin with Western institutions. Black, African, Caribbean and Indigenous communities have always had healers. Some were elders, pastors, spiritual leaders, aunties, community organizers, storytellers or cultural protectors. This does not mean formal education and professional standards are unimportant. Rather, it reminds us that healing has always existed both inside and outside institutional structures. The problem arises when only certain forms of knowledge, professionalism and care are treated as inherently legitimate while others are continuously questioned.

I also believe we need more honest conversations within Black Canadian communities themselves. While racism and institutional barriers are real, we do not always discuss lateral violence, division, scarcity mindsets or the difficulties many Black professionals face in receiving support from their own communities. Black identity in Canada is still shaped by many histories, migrations and cultural differences, and sometimes this creates fragmentation rather than solidarity. In my own experience, I have often felt stronger immediate affirmation from Black communities in the United States than in Canada. Still, I remain hopeful because I believe our communities are evolving, and I believe there is immense potential for greater collective support, collaboration and healing.

Most importantly, I want younger Black people, especially Black men, to carry the torch. I do not want to be alone in this work. I cannot speak for every Black experience, nor should I. Our identities, cultures and realities are diverse. But I want younger generations to know that they belong in these spaces. I believe healing work is more than a profession; for many of us, it is spiritual. It is a calling. There are young Black men who may naturally possess empathy, intuition, emotional intelligence and the ability to guide others toward healing, yet society may never nurture those gifts. Instead, many are pushed toward silence, marginalization, survival or systems that criminalize rather than cultivate them. That is not only a personal tragedy. It is a collective loss for all of society.