I've always felt a little…
in between.
I grew up in the Midwest, biracial half Korean, half Caucasian and never quite felt like I fully fit anywhere. Not with my peers. Not even fully within my own family.
And honestly? As a kid I wasn't exactly easy to be around.
I was bossy. Hyper. A little much.
Making friends didn't come naturally, and I wanted connection so badly that I literally invented it. I created imaginary boyfriends in 4th grade. Full storylines. I wanted to be loved that deeply and hadn't figured out yet how to find it for real.
Then middle school hit. And it got real.
I was the last one picked in P.E. one day. I kept thinking — this time someone will choose me. And it kept not happening. I stood there feeling embarrassed and unwanted, trying to look like I didn't care.
I 100% cared.
There was also a boy — a popular one — who asked me to the dance. I was so excited. And then he came back and told me he'd still take me if the other girl he asked AFTER ME decided she didn't want to go with him.
I don't know which part stung more. Being the backup. Or the fact that he said it out loud like it was fine.
Those moments don't just disappear. They settle in. They shape how you move through the world, how safe you feel taking up space, how much of yourself you're willing to show.
So I watched. I paid attention. I studied people the way other kids studied sports stats or song lyrics.
What made someone feel safe? What made a conversation go somewhere real? Why did some people light up a room and others disappear into it?
Over time slowly, then eventually I figured it out.
I learned how to show up. How to make space. How to be the kind of friend I always wanted.
And eventually I built friendships that had everything I'd been looking for: authenticity, depth, fun, and yes, light roasting. The kind where you know you're loved because someone knows you well enough to give you a hard time.
That's what real connection feels like.
I once read something that said: "Did I weird you out or have I weirded you in?"
That’s me in a sentence. I say what I’m thinking. I keep it real.
I don't filter myself to make other people comfortable and for some people, that's a lot.
But for the right people?
It's exactly what they were looking for.
Because when someone shows up without a mask, it gives you permission to do the same.
That's what I've learned to be. In friendships, in therapy rooms, and now in this space.
So many people are walking around feeling disconnected. Misunderstood. Unsure how to fully show up. Like if they really let themselves be seen it might not land well.
So they hold back. Overthink. Filter themselves.
And then wonder why their relationships don't feel as deep as they want them to.
That's what pulled me toward people.
From therapy room to conversation space
For 12+ years, I worked as a licensed psychotherapist, sitting with people through some of the hardest, most human moments of their lives.
And there was one thing I kept seeing, over and over:
People weren't just struggling with problems.
They were struggling with connection.
Feeling alone even in relationships. Even in rooms full of people.
Over time, I also started feeling something of my own.
The work I loved, the actual human part, the conversations, the moments where something real passed between two people, kept getting buried under paperwork, diagnoses, billing codes, and bureaucracy. The red tape was getting in the way of the connection.
So I made a decision.
I left the clinical world and built the space I always wished existed.
Unlonely Together isn't a therapy practice.
It's not a coaching program with a curriculum and homework.
It's a conversation space. A place to think out loud, say the thing you've been holding back, and experience what it actually feels like to be heard.
No barriers. No clinical distance. No treatment plans or diagnoses. Just real conversation with someone who has spent over a decade learning how humans work — and genuinely loves talking with them.
I'm Krista. And I'm really glad you're here.
Let's Talk