Yengyee Lor - Author - Thought Leader

08/06/2026

08/05/2026

“I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.”

- The Elephant’s Child” by Rudyard Kipling

07/26/2026

I have been posting most of my writing content on LinkedIn. I will try to do better with posting my article, book excerpts, and leadership thought more on here.

This week, I have talked with so many phenomenal women who struggle to see their own accomplishments. These are women who have built careers, raised families, led organizations, served communities, survived difficult seasons, and carried responsibilities that most people will never fully understand.

02/06/2026

A Love That Can Hold It

Love after divorce
is not flirtation.
It is a doorway
with children behind it
and peace finally built on the other side.

So the heart does not rush.
It measures.
It listens.
It asks what the mouth cannot:
Will this person bring safety
or bring noise?

Single motherhood makes love sacred
and terrifying.

Because love is no longer just romance.
Love is impact.
Love is who gets access
to the life that was stitched together
after everything came apart.

Dating becomes a quiet battlefield.
Not of enemies,
but of wounds.

Two people arrive
with invisible bruises.
Old stories.
Unfinished healing.
Trauma that shows up
as distance,
as control,
as disappearing
right when closeness begins.

And the hardest truth
is this:
care does not prevent harm.

Even good people
can mishandle each other.
Even gentle hands
can still drop what is fragile.

So the heart becomes cautious.
Not cold.
Cautious.

Because getting hurt now
does not only break a heart.
It shakes a home.
It steals sleep.
It forces a smile at breakfast
while grief sits heavy in the chest.
It asks a woman
to keep mothering with softness
while privately bleeding.

And sometimes belief fades.

Sometimes the question rises
like a prayer you are tired of praying:
Does a love that lasts
actually exist?

Not the loud love.
Not the chaotic love.
But the extraordinary kind
that is steady.
The kind that has your back
in rooms you are not in.
The kind that protects your peace
instead of testing it.

The longing is simple.

To be chosen
without being consumed.
To be held
without being controlled.
To be loved
without having to shrink.

To find a person
who can walk with you
into old age.
Through changing bodies.
Through grief and ordinary days.
Through the seasons
where strength is quiet.

And still,
hope stays.

Not naive hope.
Brave hope.

The kind that says:
After everything,
the heart is still willing
to believe in companionship.

And if it comes,
it will not feel like fireworks.

It will feel like exhale.
Like safe.
Like finally not doing life alone.

02/06/2026

The Ones Who Bleed Without a Wound

How many can bleed
without being cut,
without injury,
without a visible cause?

Not many.

Yet women do.
Month after month.
Quietly.
Like a covenant with time.

Blood arrives without permission.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just honest.

A body releasing what it prepared.
A body speaking truth
in a language older than words.

Bleeding is not always a crisis.
Sometimes it is a rhythm.
Sometimes it is wisdom.
Sometimes it is the cost of carrying power
in a world that fears it.

There are rises and falls.
Energy swelling.
Energy retreating.
Patience thinning.
Emotions sharpening,
as if the body is asking
for truth instead of performance.

Beneath hormones,
beneath explanation,
there is memory.

Trauma does not live only in the mind.
It settles into muscle.
Waits in the hips.
Sleeps in the pelvis.
Becomes weight that feels normal
until the cycle turns
and the body remembers.

So the bleeding comes with sadness.
Not always named.
Not always tied to a moment.
Just a heaviness whispering,
something has been held too long.

And still, life moves forward.

Women continue.
Working.
Leading.
Holding families, teams, communities
while their bodies perform
a monthly act of surrender.

That is humbling.

Not because it is weak,
but because it is true.
Because strength is not noise.
Strength is presence
when comfort is absent.

And there is beauty here.

Not polished.
Not convenient.
But real.

A body in pain
can still be sacred.
A body releasing
can still be whole.
A body bleeding
can still deserve tenderness.

And then
there is the other truth.

Sometimes
it does not bleed.

Sometimes the body keeps
what it built.
The lining becomes shelter.
The ache becomes waiting.
The blood becomes life,
a quiet heartbeat
forming in the dark.

The same body
that knows how to release
also knows how to hold.

This is the intelligence of flesh.

To empty.
To prepare.
To begin again.

And if resilience ever needs a face,
it looks like the ones
who bleed without a wound
and still build a life
with both hands.