Amira
Founder, Coji Universe
About Coji Universe
I built Coji because I needed something like it and it didn't exist. After long COVID left me with energy that changes from one day to the next, and a dyspraxia diagnosis that took years to actually understand, I got tired of tools that assume everyone wakes up with the same brain and the same battery every morning. Coji is what I wished I'd had while I was working out how to live inside a body and a mind that don't run the way most software expects.
Half of Coji's better ideas happened on a walk with Arissa, my dog, who has never once asked what I got done today. She just wants the walk, then the fuss afterwards, whatever kind of day I've had. Somewhere in all that trotting round the park I realised that's the tone I wanted Coji to have: steady, glad to see you, entirely uninterested in your streak. She's asleep under my desk as I write this, which I choose to read as quality control.
My Mission
My aim is straightforward, even if getting here hasn't been. I want to build tools that work with the way neurodivergent brains actually function, instead of penalising anyone who can't think or move in a straight line. Nothing here is about smoothing people out until they're easier for a system to process.
Long COVID, a brain that never stopped, and learning to slow down.
For most of my life, I wasn't lazy. If anything, the opposite. I was chaotic. Always moving, always starting things, always saying yes. Always, somehow, getting it done.
I could hold enormous complexity. Take on more than anyone thought possible and deliver. Hyperfocus for twelve hours straight, lose myself completely in something, and come out the other side with something brilliant and a body that had forgotten to eat, sleep, or stop.
From the outside, I looked like I was managing. And I was. I just had no idea what it was costing me. The exhaustion that came after. The days of recovery nobody saw. The way my system would eventually hit a wall I hadn't noticed building.
"I always got things done. But I got them done at my own expense, and I didn't know any other way."
Nobody had ever suggested there might be a different way to operate. So I just kept going. Like I always do.
Then I got COVID. And then I didn't really get better.
Long COVID is a strange illness. Some days I felt almost normal. Other days I couldn't walk to the kitchen without needing to lie down. The fatigue wasn't like being tired. It was a full-body shutdown. My brain stopped working the way it used to. I'd lose words mid-sentence. I'd forget things immediately after being told them. I'd try to do a simple task and just... stall. Nothing would start.
The medical system didn't really know what to do with me. I was bounced around. Told to rest. Told to pace myself. But nobody gave me tools. Nobody explained how to actually live inside a body that had become unpredictable.
I started tracking everything: energy levels, symptoms, sleep, what I managed to do and what I couldn't. Not because I was organised, but because I was desperate to find patterns. To understand what was happening to me.
What I found was that I had no consistent capacity. Some days I had 30% of my normal energy. Some days 60%. Almost never 100%. And I was still trying to live like a 100% person, and failing, and blaming myself for failing.
The concept of battery levels, of knowing exactly what you have to work with that day, started forming in my head. Not as an app idea. Just as a survival tool.
At university, I got a diagnosis: dyspraxia. I didn't really know what that meant.
It was mentioned almost in passing. A note in my file. I looked it up briefly, saw something about coordination and motor skills, and filed it away without a second thought. I was clumsy, sure. I bumped into things. My handwriting was a mess. Okay, so that's what that is. And I moved on.
I had never, at any point, thought I might have ADHD. I knew the stereotype: the hyperactive little boy who couldn't sit still in class. I was someone who got things done. I just assumed I wasn't the type.
"The dyspraxia label sat there, unused. A word I'd been given but not really handed."
So I kept going. Like I always do. The diagnosis didn't change anything, because I didn't yet understand what it was actually telling me.
Long COVID forced me to slow down enough to actually look. And when I looked, I started reading about dyspraxia properly, not the one-line definition I'd skimmed at university. Everything.
And I found that dyspraxia is so much more than coordination. It affects how the brain processes information. It affects spelling and numeracy, things I'd struggled with for years without realising, and put down to not concentrating hard enough. It affects working memory, sensory processing, spatial reasoning, fatigue. The cognitive overhead of everyday physical tasks that other people seem to do without thinking.
Through dyspraxia, I found the wider world of neurodivergence. And through that, I started reading about ADHD. Not because I thought I had it. The stereotype still had me convinced that wasn't me. But the research kept overlapping. And I'd read something and think: oh. that's me. I do that. I've always done that.
These conditions don't sit in neat separate boxes. They're intersectional. And that intersectionality is exactly why so many people go undiagnosed, or get diagnosed with only one piece of a much bigger picture.
I wasn't chaotic because I was broken. I was running a system nobody had given me the manual for, and the manual turned out to be far more layered than a single word in a student health file.
But properly sitting with the dyspraxia diagnosis was different to anything else.
Where recognising ADHD patterns had felt like an explanation for how I think, dyspraxia explained my body. The chronic fatigue that went beyond long COVID. The spatial awareness issues I'd always had but put down to being clumsy. The way my proprioception was just slightly off: always bumping into things, dropping things, misjudging distances. The exhaustion of doing things that other people seemed to do automatically, without thinking. The spelling. The numbers. The way information that should have stuck just didn't.
Dyspraxia affects motor coordination, but it goes much deeper than that. It affects how the brain and body communicate. How energy is used in movement and processing. How much cognitive overhead everyday physical tasks consume, unnoticed by anyone else.
"I had been spending enormous amounts of energy on things I didn't even know I was spending energy on. Every day. For my entire life."
Finally understanding that diagnosis didn't just explain things. It changed how I treated myself. I stopped pushing through. I started factoring in recovery time. I stopped scheduling my life as if I had the energy baseline of someone without any of these conditions.
And I started building tools that could actually hold all of that complexity, without me having to explain it to anyone, or justify why I needed to rest, or apologise for having a different rhythm.
Coji Universe came from wanting to exist somewhere that didn't demand I be a neurotypical person. Every productivity app I'd tried assumed you had consistent energy, a predictable schedule, and a brain that would do what it was told. None of them were built for the reality of my life.
I wanted an app that understood battery levels, not as a metaphor but as a genuine input that shapes what you can do today. I wanted a tool that helped me prioritise based on my actual energy, not just urgency. I wanted a companion that didn't judge me for having a bad day, or a bad week.
I wanted something that felt like it was designed for my brain.
Why Coji exists
Coji is for everyone who spent years thinking the problem was them. For every person who failed at a system not designed for their brain. For everyone whose diagnoses came late, or haven't come yet, or who is still finding the words.
It's for the late-diagnosed ADHD adults who are rebuilding their sense of self. For the long COVID community navigating unpredictable capacity. For autistic people managing sensory overwhelm. For people with chronic illness trying to have a life within real constraints. For anyone who is neurodivergent and exhausted from pretending otherwise.
The "oh, this is what I need" moments I've had, learning about my brain piece by piece, getting older and understanding myself more, are what Coji is designed to support. Every feature exists because I, or someone like me, needed it and couldn't find it anywhere.
I'm still learning. New things about my brain, new ways of working with my body, new language for things I've always experienced but couldn't name. That process doesn't stop, and neither does Coji. Every domain, every prompt, every way it tries to understand how your brain works gets added to as I understand more myself, and as the people actually using it tell me what's missing.
If you've got thoughts on what Coji gets right or wrong, I'm on r/PlanLifeNotBurnOut reading every one of them.
I built this from the inside out, and I keep building it for the people who need it most.
My Values
These principles guide everything I build
Neurodiversity Celebration
Neurodivergent brains work differently, and that difference has real value, so every tool I build is meant to work with your brain rather than against it.
Evidence-Based Design
Every feature is grounded in real research on ADHD, autism and chronic illness, then tested against my own lived experience and the experiences of the people using Coji.
Community-Driven
Coji started with one neurodivergent person trying to solve their own problem, and it now grows through a community shaped by needs I recognise because I've had them myself.
Accessibility First
Large text, high contrast, dyslexia-friendly fonts and a clear layout aren't details I bolt on at the end. They're where the design starts.
What I Believe
No masking required. Be authentically you.
Energy management over productivity.
Self-compassion, not self-optimisation.
Sustainable systems, not hustle culture.
Your brain is wonderful exactly as it is.
Built With Lived Experience
Coji Universe started with me, working out my own brain and body while trying to build something that could actually help, and it has grown into a small community of neurodivergent people who test, question, and shape every feature before it goes anywhere near a wider release. Nothing ships because it looked good on paper. It ships because someone who actually lives with these conditions tried it and said it made a difference.
I'm based in Birmingham, UK, working alongside community members and advisors from further afield, and I'm still learning new things about how my own brain works, sometimes on a weekly basis. Coji grows alongside that learning, out in the open, built by people who would rather be honest about what they don't yet know than pretend the work is finished.
Come Build This With Me
Every feature ships because someone who lives with this tried it first. Come be one of those people.
First month free, cancel anytime
Coji is assistive software, so you might not have to pay for it yourself. See funding options.