Experience: I suffered terrible burns as a child – then became a firefighter

I was sick and tired of the world treating me like a victim, so I decided to flip the narrative. At 25, I tried out for my local volunteer fire academy

When I was six years old, my entire body went up in flames. It was 1992, in my home town of Hawthorne, Nevada. My older brothers were out playing and I went to call them for dinner. I followed their voices, just a few houses down from ours, to find them playing with a bowl of kerosene they’d found and a lighter. When they flicked the lighter, the bowl caught fire. My brother freaked out and kicked it over in a bid to contain the flames. They weren’t aware I was just inches away.

Soon I was submerged in flames. The pain was excruciating. I was tackled to the ground by a neighbour I’d never met, who covered me in a sleeping bag, extinguishing the flames. It haunts me to this day to think of what he would have seen: a six-year-old boy on fire outside his house.

I had sustained third- and fourth-degree burns on 73% of my body. I was taken to a local hospital, but I needed specialist care, so was flown to a centre in Las Vegas.

It took me a year of being treated at a number of hospitals to recover. Bandage changes would take five hours, and even bending down would cause my sides to crack open because the skin was so thin. I lost all grasp of reality, and tried to survive day by day.

My family really struggled through it all, but we stayed closer than ever. My brothers were only 10 and 13 then, so the experience was also extremely difficult for them in a different way.

Soon, I was even suffering from surgery burnout – where the body has had too many surgeries and can’t recover – and was sent to a medically trained foster home. I stayed there for four years. My dad was always my rock throughout. When I was 17, he passed away from brain cancer. Once again, I found myself questioning why I’d been dealt this horrendous hand in life.

Integrating into society as a young adult was tough. Looking different meant I got bullied, and I found it hard to get a job. In my 20s, I was working at a Blockbuster video shop, but I wanted a career, so I applied to be a mechanic. The manager looked at me and said: “I can’t hire you.”

I was sick and tired of the world treating me like a victim. That’s when I got the idea to flip the narrative. At 25, I decided to try out for my local volunteer fire academy.

Just two weeks into training, I was in a room filled with burning flames. I stood in my gear, engulfed in thick smoke, watching the flames roll towards me. I froze and started getting flashbacks. I could feel the instructor watching me. I wasn’t able to move, but when the fire had rolled less than a foot above my head, I had an epiphany. For the first time, I knew I was in control. I turned on the hose. I’ve kept a photo of myself from that time, walking out of the building proudly, my fire suit still smoking.

After 12 weeks of training, I was attached to a station in Seattle that was staffed by volunteers. We would be sent to emergencies, often dispatched to car fires, dumpster fires and small brush fires.

I have never felt such immediate acceptance from a team, and to this day call my fellow firefighters my brothers and sisters. The fire department taught me about the importance of community. I particularly loved going into schools to talk to kids about fire safety because I know how powerful that knowledge can be.

After a few years, I made the difficult decision to leave the academy; I had taken a job at a non-profit that worked with children with burns across the country. Now I am a peer support specialist, helping people with their mental health and recovery from addiction. I think it is important that everyone feels in control of their recovery, like I had with mine.

I had signed up to firefighting out of spite, but the lessons it taught me about my own strength and resilience have been invaluable. Now I have a fiancee, a child and a happy life.

I have never been able to identify the neighbour who saved me back when I was six. I grew up in a mining town, where people came and went like tumbleweeds. It’s been one of my life goals to properly thank him – I hope by sharing my story online, I finally can.

• As told to Elizabeth McCafferty

Do you have an experience to share? Email experience@theguardian.com