Life for autistic individuals is often a delicate balance between routine, predictability, and a world that rarely stands still. For many of us—whether we’re autistic ourselves, parents, or loved ones—the idea of “normal” doesn’t come from society’s definition but from the consistency of how things feel. When that feeling shifts, even slightly, it can send ripples through daily life.
We often talk about autism in terms of sensory differences, communication, or social challenges, but one of the less obvious—and just as powerful—traits is the need for things to remain consistent. Change, even small change, can feel monumental. This isn’t stubbornness or refusal for the sake of being difficult. It’s about anchoring oneself in a world that feels unpredictable.
The Need to Be Right
Here’s a truth many parents of autistic kids will recognize: sometimes it isn’t about winning an argument, it’s about needing reality to match the way it feels “right.” My son is a perfect example of this. He has a strong belief—no, conviction—that Nintendo Switch games should only come in cartridge form.
To him, the physical act of sliding a cartridge into the console is not just about playing a game. It’s about order, about rules that make sense. He’ll argue passionately that games should not be downloadable, because pushing a button on a screen can never replace the satisfying click of a cartridge locking into place. That small motion is his anchor. That is what feels normal.
As a parent, I can see the world shifting toward digital downloads, cloud gaming, and subscription services. But to my son, that shift feels like the ground beneath him is being pulled away. He doesn’t want to adapt to the “new normal” of gaming, because his definition of normal isn’t about technology—it’s about consistency.
The Tommy Toggle Effect
We jokingly call this the “Tommy Toggle Effect” in our house. Why? Because it’s not really about games—it’s about the toggle, the switch, the action that brings closure and certainty. There’s comfort in the tactile. There’s reassurance in the predictable sequence: insert, click, play.
The “Tommy Toggle Effect” is what happens when an autistic person’s sense of normal collides with a world that keeps innovating, updating, and reinventing. What may seem like an insignificant convenience to one person can feel like a loss of grounding to another.
Think about how often in life we encounter similar toggles: the way a light switch feels under your finger versus a smooth touchscreen control. The way a paper book smells and sounds compared to scrolling through an e-reader. To most people, these are just choices. To someone autistic, the toggle is more than a preference—it’s part of the definition of “normal.”
Why Normal Matters
For autistic individuals, “normal” doesn’t necessarily mean blending in with everyone else. It’s not about social conformity. It’s about creating a world where sensory input, expectations, and interactions don’t feel overwhelming.
Change adds noise. It adds uncertainty. It threatens the fragile balance where things finally feel manageable. That’s why the need for things to feel normal is so strong. It’s why routines, rituals, and even debates about video game cartridges become so important.
And yes, it’s why arguments happen. The need to be right isn’t about ego—it’s about protecting a reality where the rules are stable and predictable. When those rules change, being “right” is a way to hold on to what feels safe.
What We Can Learn
The “Tommy Toggle Effect” is more than just a funny family phrase. It’s a reminder that we all have our toggles—things we hold on to because they feel right, familiar, and grounding. For autistic individuals, those toggles are often non-negotiable.
Instead of fighting against them, maybe we should lean in. Instead of saying, “Just adapt, this is how things are now,” we could ask: What’s the toggle here? What’s the piece of normal they’re trying to hold on to?
For my son, it’s the cartridge. For someone else, it might be the sound of a fan running at night, the same brand of cereal every morning, or walking the same path to school. These aren’t quirks—they’re lifelines.
And if we’re willing to listen, we might just find that the world is a little richer when we make space for those lifelines instead of pulling them away.
Closing Thought
Autism shows us, in its unique and sometimes stubborn way, that normal isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s personal. It’s tactile. It’s often found in the toggles, switches, and rituals others overlook.
The “Tommy Toggle Effect” may sound small, but it represents something universal: the human need for anchors in a shifting world. For autistic individuals, those anchors aren’t optional—they’re essential. And maybe that’s something we could all stand to respect a little more.