When therapists first starting diagnosing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) as shattered soldiers returned from the war in Vietnam, the public quickly seized upon it to describe the fragile state of many of these veterans. It explained a lot. Despite loving families and existing treatments, they fell apart when confronted by unexpected loud noises or other shocks to their system. It was the new label for shell shock.

Initially, a PTSD diagnosis was applied grudgingly. The post-Vietnam military preferred to ignore the psychological trauma its soldiers had suffered. It would be acknowledging events it would rather not acknowledge, and be expensive, entitling its victims to long-term disability benefits and treatment. So the label was applied rarely, only to those who could prove they had witnessed firsthand traumatic events.

The soldier first had to prove such an event had occurred. Given the slipshod record keeping of the military and the fog of war, as well as their reluctance to admit to the worst of the war’s atrocities these men and women had witnessed or participated in, this was often impossible. Nor would the military help claimants find records of the soldier’s wartime movements nor the current location of his comrades, now scattered across the country or dead, who could substantiate the claims. Often, no such records existed. It was unthinkable that the word of the soldier be accepted without such bureaucratic proof.

As a congressional staffer, I helped one constituent with such a claim. I think his name was Terry, a Maine native with the stoic fortitude associated with growing up hardscrabble. He had been driving a Humvee when it ran over a little local girl, killing her. It happened in seconds, but the horror remained fixed in his mind. He blamed himself for her death, although the Humvee had been traveling fast to avoid being blown up, so the accident may have been unavoidable. But the memory remained fixed in his mind, causing him nightmares and thwarting his ability to hold down a job when he returned home. His supportive family was unable to help him, decades after the war had ended.

Terry came to the Portland office of his congressman, Tom Allen, for help. We tried to gather supporting evidence, including records of skirmishes and the current location of his comrades from the time of the incident. After months of frustrating dead ends, we decided we would attack the very premise of the Army’s standards. Take his word for it, we argued. That is the least you can do for these men who had done so much for their country.

Frankly, I do not remember how we did it or how long it took, but eventually a more enlightened leadership at the Army Department agreed to change the rules, and Terry got his disability benefits and the therapy he needed. It would take years, maybe a lifetime, to recover, but the path had been opened.

After experiencing traumas in my own life, I now understand that PTSD is a fact of many lives beyond those caught up in war. In my life, it was the sudden death of my 23-year-old daughter in an accident while volunteering overseas. Not a day goes by without some sight or event triggering great sorrow. It can be a mundane as seeing the U-Haul facility in Portland, where we rented vans to move her college belongings to her new homes. Or the birth of a baby by one of her girlfriends, her dream. My life is a string of PTSD events.

For my brother, it was the unexpected loss of his job. He was old enough to retire and financially secure, but the humiliation of the loss scrambled his mind, causing a steady decline in his health and ability to enjoy life. For my uncle, it was the horrors he had witnessed as a World War II combatant. Although this may or may not be true, I believe he was among the troops that liberated a concentration camp. Months after returning home, he slit his wrists and then jumped to his death from his apartment. I found a letter years ago from my mother to the VA, asking that their parents receive death benefits related to his service because of the link between his service and suicide. It was denied.

PTSD is a fact of life for many people, veterans or not. Treatments are improving, but the shadow still hangs over millions of people.