It's been six months since the tragic New Year's Eve attack on Bourbon Street.

As you may recall, I was in New Orleans to cover the Sugar Bowl.

On the evening of New Year's Eve, I messaged Nancy Paiva to see if she wanted to go out. We went for a foot massage, then to the Circus Bar. The intersection where he turned onto Bourbon street, we had crossed only hours prior as we walked about that evening. We stayed out until just after the countdown and then walked back home. To wake up the following morning and seeing emergency vehicles and TV crews outside my window was surreal.

I first messaged my husband and my parents to let them know I was safe. I then messaged a few friends who knew I was in New Orleans. I was glad that I am not active on social media and hadn't publicly posted that I was in New Orleans because, although it's nice to be cared about, even by an internet community, it meant that I didn't have to put out a blanket "I'm ok" before processing what had occurred.

While everything was still unknown, from the number of victims, to the motive, to the status of the game that night, I decided to go for a walk. I didn't know how to process anything apart from feeling incredibly grateful that he didn't cross that intersection a few hours earlier. Not only for my own life, but because I know there would have been so many more victims had he attacked earlier in the night.

I came back into my room and decided that local news on the hotel TV would likely serve my mental health better than trying to scroll/refresh for updates on various websites and social media platforms (I still haven't put X on my phone). As they started suggesting a terrorist connection, possibly other accomplices, and that they were detonating other devices left around the area, it felt more surreal. Was I really in a city while a terrorist attack happened? Was I just a few feet and a few hours from my kids growing up without their mom?

I compared it to people who missed their flight on 9/11. I was never in immediate danger and I did not witness the trauma first-hand, but being so close and present for the aftermath made it all too real and I didn't know how to process it. As a first responder, my husband is all too well versed in mass casualty incidents and offered great support as I processed the trauma.

I was hesitant at first to go out and take pictures with my camera. I do not consider myself a journalist in that way. I think there are journalists who do incredible work to document historical moments and the work they do is so important. That is not me. I feared appearing, as though I was exploiting a tragedy. I did not want to send the photos to an agency or get any attention for myself for the images of the aftermath. There were plenty of true journalists doing that work. But as I talked to my husband about it, he reminded me that I often experience the world through my camera and that taking pictures might help me process it.

So six months later, I am publishing just a few of the photos. Not for attention for me, but to remind anyone that while the game went on the next day, the street opened to tourists, and life kind of went on. The news cycle had other things to report. New Orleans even had a blizzard the following month?! But for a number of people, life has been forever changed. While I came home a little shaken, I am so grateful to be able to come home and hug my kids a little tighter. So lucky that I get another day!

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While It still feels odd to publish these, it is part of my process. Apologies to anyone if this feel inappropriate.

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How do you process trauma?