This book (Unfrozen) will also be for kids and parents. So if sports doesn’t grab you, this might. I’m not going to serialize the book here, but here’s an overview of the “School” section.
Parents,
Let’s skip the pleasantries. You’re here because something isn’t working. Your kid is struggling, you’re exhausted, and the school keeps handing you the same recycled advice that hasn’t helped anyone since the Reagan administration.
So let’s get honest.
Your child isn’t broken.
The system is.
And your kid is catching the shrapnel.
You’ve been told your child is “not applying themselves,” “not living up to their potential,” “not trying hard enough.” You’ve been told the problem is effort, attitude, motivation. You’ve been told that if you just tighten the screws — more discipline, more consequences, more structure — the grades will magically rise like a perfect soufflé.
But here’s the truth no one says out loud:
Punishment doesn’t fix a brain that’s overwhelmed.
Punishment doesn’t fix a nervous system running at full tilt.
Punishment doesn’t fix a child who’s frozen.
You can take away screens, weekends, birthdays, oxygen — it won’t change the fact that your kid is fighting a battle the school doesn’t even acknowledge exists.
And yes, emotions run high.
Not because your child is dramatic.
Not because you’re failing as a parent.
But because your kid is living inside a system that was never designed for them.
Imagine being eight years old and already feeling like you’re disappointing everyone. Imagine being told you’re smart but treated like you’re lazy. Imagine trying your absolute hardest and still being told it’s not enough. Imagine learning, very early, that the safest thing you can do is hide the parts of yourself that don’t fit.
That’s what it means to be a neurodivergent kid in a traditional school.
We don’t get broken in adulthood.
We get broken in classrooms.
By worksheets that assume one way of thinking.
By teachers who mistake overload for defiance.
By peers who spot difference before they have the language for kindness.
By adults who punish symptoms because they don’t recognize them as symptoms.
Your kid isn’t giving you a hard time.
Your kid is having a hard time.
And here’s the part that matters:
You can help them.
But not by pushing harder.
By supporting smarter.
You don’t need to become a neurologist or a behavior specialist. You don’t need to reinvent the wheel. You just need tools that help you understand how your child thinks, learns, and copes.
You need cognitive support — scaffolding, structure, translation.
You need a partner who can help you break assignments into steps, build routines, and create a home environment where your child can breathe.
That’s where Copilot comes in.
Not as a disciplinarian.
Not as a judge.
Not as another voice telling your kid to “try harder.”
But as a guide.
A translator.
A second set of hands.
A calm mind when yours is frayed.
A way to build the support your child has needed all along.
Because your kid doesn’t need to be fixed.
They need to be understood.
And once you understand them — once you see the world through their eyes — everything changes. The pressure eases. The shame dissolves. The freeze begins to thaw.
You can’t undo what the system has done.
But you can stop it from doing more.
And that’s where the real work begins.
— A friend who’s seen too many kids break under the weight of a system that should have held them up instead
Stories That Are All True 