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Last update 14 May 2025
20 mins
⚠️ Author’s Note / Disclaimer This article is not part of my field of studies or research. It emerged out of a simple discussion which lead to a literature review and this small summary. While I am not a medical expert, this summary has been compiled to the best of my ability. Though I aim for accuracy, there may be errors.
Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) Level 1 (formerly known as Asperger’s) is characterized by intense focus, insistence on sameness, and sensitivity to change[1,2]. Many autistic adults develop strong emotional attachments to familiar possessions - toys, books, cars, or other items - and report great distress when those items are removed or when their environment changes.[1,2] In practice, giving away an old stuffed animal or moving house can feel to an autistic person like “losing a part of myself.” Research shows that this attachment arises from core features of ASD: routines and predictability, sensory and emotional regulation needs, and cognitive patterns like intense interests or even anthropomorphism. Below these mechanisms are explained and how they differ from typical patterns, then supportive strategies are outlined. We are also going to take a critical look at Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) and the associated problems.
Autistic people often form socio-emotional bonds with objects. In one survey, autistic adults commonly described personifying inanimate things - attributing them human-like traits or feelings - much more often than non-autistic adults[3]. For example, one interviewee said: “I am more attached to objects than people … objects give me a sense of security … they are more predictable than people … they will go anywhere with me”[1]. Autistic individuals may collect many items (even seemingly trivial ones) as “physical memories” or symbols of the past[1]. For instance, one participant reported hoarding toys from first grade to help “preserve the past”[1]. Such objects provide comfort and constancy: they “provide structure, order and predictability” in an unpredictable world[1,2]. As one study concluded, “collecting objects may serve the ‘need for sameness’ by providing a familiar and consistent surrounding. Objects are described as offering a reliable safety net in an unreliable world”.[1]
By contrast, most neurotypical people attach sentiment to only a few items (like family heirlooms or photos) and generally discard outdated possessions with little anxiety. The research suggests autistic people are far more likely to experience intense object attachment. For example, nearly half of autistic adults interviewed showed hoarding-like behavior motivated by “emotional aids”, “disposal difficulties”, and “collecting items related to special interests”[1]. In these interviews, participants said that discarding anything “not plain trash” caused significant discomfort[1]. By contrast, neurotypical adults rarely report similar distress. In one study, object personification (treating things as if alive) occurred more often (and later in life) in autistic participants than in neurotypical ones[3], highlighting that this tendency is a distinct feature of the autism spectrum.
Several interrelated factors underlie why letting go of familiar items is especially hard for autistic adults. Below are key mechanisms:
Insistence on Sameness and Predictability: A core ASD trait is resistance to change. The DSM-5 explicitly lists “insistence on sameness, inflexible adherence to routine, or ritualized behavior” as a diagnostic feature[1]. Changing a set of belongings or moving to a new home can violate an autistic person’s need for a stable, predictable environment. Objects act like fixed points in a steady routine. As the Autism Society notes, autistic people often rely on set routes, timetables and even familiar items to “get order into an unbearably chaotic life,” reducing fear and uncertainty[4]. Research confirms this: autistic adults describe their collections as supporting a “need for sameness, familiarity and well-being”[1]. One interviewee said collecting objects “promote[s] a sense of comfort and security,” and that changing or discarding items is accompanied by “considerable discomfort” (for example, when moving apartments)[1]. In short, familiar objects make their world predictable, so parting with them can feel destabilizing.
Emotional Regulation and Anxiety: Difficulty managing strong emotions is common in ASD, so people often use routines or objects as coping strategies[1]. Cherished possessions can serve as emotional aids: a way to soothe anxiety or sadness. The interviews found many hoarding behaviors were motivated by a “need for emotional aids.” For example, one autistic man said he hoards souvenirs and toys “pretty obsessively” because it “helps me preserve the past” and feels comforting[1]. Similarly, collecting favorite books or DVDs can provide reassurance during stress. Conversely, being forced to discard something can trigger intense anxiety – as one person put it, being made to decide “what to keep and what to throw out” is so tough it causes severe stress. Neurotypical people also feel mild sadness when throwing away personal items, but autistic individuals often experience much stronger anxiety or even panic, because the objects play a key role in their emotional stability[1].
Sensory and Behavioral Factors: Autistic people often have heightened sensory sensitivities or engage in repetitive behaviors to regulate sensory input[2]. Objects provide consistent sensory stimulation (soft texture of a stuffed toy, a familiar smell, a favorite book’s feel) that can be soothing. By contrast, new or no-longer-owned items bring unpredictable sensory changes. In some cases, collecting itself is a form of ‘stimming’ – a self-soothing repetitive behavior. The autism.org.uk guide notes that repetitive behaviors may occur to seek sensory input or reduce sensory overload[2]. Keeping an object instead of throwing it away may simply avoid an unknown sensory mismatch.
Cognitive Styles and Special Interests: Many with ASD have intense, focused interests and a tendency to “systemize” - to analyze and organize the world in detail. This means that collections of related items (figures, models, books) can become a special interest in itself. Interviewed adults said they treasure items tied to their interests: “I’m a collector … I collect books, DVD’s … and it’s a treasure for me”[1]. Letting go of these items not only loses a familiar thing but also disrupts a whole interest system. This hyper-focus on particular objects or categories is far more pronounced in autism than in neurotypical cognition. Social-cognitive differences also play a role: autistic people often anthropomorphize or personify objects[3], creating stronger emotional bonds.
Intolerance of Uncertainty: Research identifies intolerance of uncertainty as a major contributor to ASD anxiety[1]. Because future events can be unpredictable, autistic individuals may cling to all things familiar. In fact, one study noted that hoarding severity in autism correlates with intolerance of uncertainty[1]. This helps explain why even a minor change[5] - like rearranging a closet or throwing out an old book - can be so hard.
Taken together, these factors mean that objects and routines carry outsized importance for people with ASD Level 1. To an outsider, an old stuffed animal might seem insignificant, but to the autistic owner it may represent stability, memory, or emotional security. As one participant succinctly put it, “objects give me a sense of security… they are more predictable than people”[1].
Neurotypical (NT) individuals also experience nostalgia or sentiment for personal belongings, but the scale and meaning differ. In NT development, clinging to objects is mostly seen in young children (security blankets, etc.) and fades by adulthood. In contrast, many autistic adults remain connected to “comfort objects” across their lives. The prevalence is higher: up to 40–50% of autistic adults report hoarding-related or anxiety-related behaviors around possessions, compared to only ~5–10% in the general population[1]. Importantly, the reasons differ. NTs usually discard items based on utility or volume; being sentimental about a few family items is common but not distressing. Autistic individuals, however, may keep dozens of items “just in case” or because deciding is overwhelming. In interviews, autistic participants described significant distress at the prospect of losing something familiar[1]. For example, many said they cannot imagine someone else throwing out their possessions – one person feared even letting a parent help clean his room because “she will throw everything away”[6]. These intense emotions – often bordering on panic – are rarely seen in neurotypicals facing the same situation.
Moreover, some behaviors (like saving to an neurotypical seemingly random junk) are much more common in autism than in typical adults. An autism experts points out that autistic collectors often save things others consider worthless (bits of string, bottle caps, etc.). When NTs do accumulate clutter, it is usually recognized as a problem (hoarding disorder) and feels pathological. In autism, by contrast, keeping objects is often a logical strategy to manage one’s internal state. As one expert explains, understanding “why” a person hoards is key: often it is to ease anxiety or avoid difficult decisions. In sum, while NTs may value familiarity, autistic people experience heightened anxiety about change, leading to far stronger attachment to objects.
Many autistic people describe beloved possessions or “transitional objects” as anchors in chaos: a cherished toy or blanket can provide continuity, identity, and calm when the world feels unpredictable[7,8]. One autistic writer recalls feeling “overwhelmed with sadness” if a favorite toy or photograph was discarded or replaced, calling it “a constant source of sadness and anxiety”[7]. In these accounts, continuity and stability are not childish clinginess but vital emotional supports – extensions of the self that offer security in an often alienating environment[8].
Mainstream views often dismiss these needs, favoring change under guises like “growing up,” “moving on,” or “becoming more flexible.” Such reasoning carries moral and logical flaws. It assumes that efficiency, novelty, or minimalism are universal goods, overlooking the individual’s well-being. Forcing change with arguments about “maturity” or “productivity” ignores that autistic brains process the world differently. In fact, neurodiversity advocates emphasize that society, not the person, should adapt. As one counsellor bluntly puts it, “When a flower doesn’t bloom, you fix the environment in which it grows, not the flower.”[9]. Likewise, in communication, autism researcher Damian Milton’s Double Empathy Theory[18,19] notes that social difficulties often arise from mutual misunderstanding, not a one-sided deficit. The remedy, then, is not to “fix” the autistic person, but to shift our perspective: treat autism as a legitimate identity rather than a deficit[10]. Viewing an adult’s attachment to routine as mere stubbornness or infantilism reflects bias - it labels an autistic coping strategy as a problem to solve, rather than a valid means of maintaining safety and coherence.
Many traditional therapies and interventions aim to force autistic people to adapt – to tolerate changes, abandon rituals, or suppress their natural responses. From a neurodiversity lens, these compliance-based approaches are deeply problematic. For instance, Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) often uses rewards and punishments to train autistic individuals to act “non-autistic.” Autistic self-advocacy groups and research highlight that this can be abusive. The Autistic Self Advocacy Network (ASAN) warns that “ABA uses rewards and punishments to train autistic people to act non-autistic,” and notes that such therapies “can hurt autistic people”[11]. Researchers have found alarming outcomes: one survey reported that nearly half of autistic respondents who received intensive behavioral therapies met criteria for PTSD[12]. Even ABA practitioners now acknowledge serious concerns over trauma[10,12].
Exposure-based therapies similarly risk harm if misapplied. Standard anxiety treatments may “push” clients into unpredictable situations, which can backfire for autistic people. Practitioners caution that “exposure therapy often involves pushing clients into uncomfortable situations. However, unpredictability can increase anxiety in autistic clients and lead to resistance”[13]. In other words, forcing an autistic person to face every sensory or social “fear” without control can amplify distress. Likewise, social skills training often emphasizes masking (suppressing natural behaviors to fit in). Autistic adults report that learned masking causes chronic stress, burnout, and even identity loss or suicidality[10]. In one qualitative study, autistic individuals “described that they learned to mask as young children” and warned that this came at the cost of intense stress and trauma[10]. Instead of teaching self-acceptance, many such interventions implicitly convey that being autistic is something to overcome.
It bears emphasizing that “problematic” behaviors often arise from unaccommodating environments, not inherent defects. Compelling someone to abandon a comforting routine or object to satisfy abstract goals (like efficiency or “normalcy”) disregards the real functional purpose of that routine: reducing anxiety and enabling day-to-day coping[8,14]. Neurodiversity advocates argue that we should accommodate differences rather than coerce conformity. As one research review observes, the solution is “shifting the perception of autism and neurodivergence as a deficit… to seeing it as a difference to be accommodated”[10]. Any therapy framed as “normalization” - training autistic individuals to act neurotypical – is rightly criticized. For example, the Australian organization Reframing Autism “rejects any intervention” that suggests neurotypicality is superior or uses reward/punishment to make autistics act “non-autistically”[15].
A critical distinction must be made between voluntary support and coercive normalization. Supportive strategies empower autistic individuals to navigate change on their terms; coercive ones override their agency. Truly supportive approaches prioritize the person’s consent and comfort. This means offering choices (such as when and how to make a transition), and providing accommodations rather than demanding immediate compliance. For example, allowing an autistic person to bring a favorite object to a new setting, or offering a quiet corner for breaks, respects their needs. By contrast, demanding they relinquish those comforts “to toughen up” is coercive. As one neurodiversity-informed source notes, a trauma-informed setting would “offer choice and control” - letting people choose seating, take breaks, and have easy exits[16] - rather than trapping them in distress.
Importantly, autistic advocates stress that any support must affirm identity. Autistic experts insist we avoid pathologizing language and goals. Encouraging an autistic adult to change should always involve their own goals and consent; bystanders should never dictate, “You must learn to adapt.” As ASAN puts it, decisions about autistic lives should involve autistic people themselves[11]. In practice, this means listening to what comforts the person (e.g. their attachment objects, sensory preferences) and validating those needs. For instance, if an autistic adult finds stability in a particular routine or possession, a compassionate response is to ask “How can we maintain continuity for you?” rather than dismissing their concern.
To preserve emotional safety, caregivers and professionals can adopt trauma-informed, sensory-aware strategies. This approach recognizes that many autistic adults have experienced trauma (including trauma from past interventions) and that abrupt changes can re-traumatize. Key elements include:
Predictability and control. Clearly explain any upcoming change, using visual schedules or social stories if helpful. Give advance warning and allow extra time. This reduces the shock of unexpected events (which can feel to an autistic person like their consciousness is being “hijacked” by sensory input)[9]. Even minor changes can be framed as choices: for example, “Tomorrow we will try the new coffee shop. You can bring your favorite book to hold when the noise gets loud.”
Environmental accommodations. Adjust the sensory environment to lower stress. Trauma-informed practice notes that sensory and emotional safety go hand in hand[16]. For instance, use dimmable lighting, minimize background noise, and offer sensory “blockers” (noise-cancelling headphones, sunglasses) to help the person feel in control[9,16]. Calm, clutter-free spaces with clear signage can make any transition less overwhelming. One autistic counselor notes that using headphones or choosing a quiet solo space significantly “helped me a lot” when routines broke down. This aligns with the mantra of the neurodiversity movement: fix the environment, not the person[9].
Emotional support and validation. Recognize that resistance to change often reflects genuine anxiety or sensory overwhelm, not “unreasonable behavior.” Avoid blame or punishment if an autistic adult becomes distressed by change. Instead, respond with empathy and safety: “I see you’re upset by this change, I understand this is hard. Let’s pause and do something comforting.” Validate their feelings rather than insisting they be stoic. Providing reassurance (“We have your favorite blanket here if you need it”) can mitigate trauma.
Leveraging strengths. Incorporate the individual’s special interests or routines as stabilizing tools. If they have a hobby or collection, allow time for that before and after a change to offset stress. For example, scheduling a beloved activity (playing a special game, listening to favorite music) after a transition can create a bridge of familiarity through the new context.
Gradual exposure with consent. If adjusting to some change is necessary (e.g. moving to a new home), do it in small, consensual steps. Work with the adult to set the pace: perhaps visiting the new place multiple times first, or keeping key routines intact during the move. Many resources emphasize that any “exposure” to change must be done on the autistic person’s terms, with the option to retreat if overwhelmed. There can’t be any “but we have to do this” moments, such excuses are not acceptable[13,16].
Empowering autonomy. Whenever possible, let the autistic person lead decisions about their possessions and routines. For instance, if cleaning or decluttering is needed, collaborate rather than dictate: ask which items they consider most important, and allow them to keep their treasures. Imposing a deadline to discard objects against their wishes can be traumatic. Instead, acknowledge that holding onto items may be comforting: after all, such objects often “provide a sense of identity and continuity”[8] in the individual’s life.
Community and identity affirmation. Encourage connection with autistic peer support or identity-affirming communities. Learning that one’s attachment behaviors are shared by others[14] can be deeply validating. This reduces shame and reframes routines as legitimate coping.
By contrast, avoid any strategy that prioritizes change for its own sake. Critically, do not isolate or punish a person for needing familiarity. For example, skipping a needed meal or outing because it was inconvenient (rather than accommodating a preference) could be experienced as coercion. Any intervention must come from a place of healing, not control.
From the autistic perspective, clinging to familiar possessions and routines is often a self-protective necessity rather than a pathology. Neurotypical justifications for change (such as “you have to grow up” or “it’s just a small thing”) fail to account for the real distress change can cause an autistic person. Well-meaning advice about efficiency or productivity should be weighed against the individual’s need for stability. Crucially, stability and consistency can greatly enhance an autistic adult’s mental health and daily functioning. Interventions should respect this: environmental stability is not merely a preference but can be a health-promoting strategy.
Ultimately, a trauma-informed, neurodiversity-affirming approach prioritizes the autistic person’s voice and comfort. It affirms that “insistence on sameness” is an authentic survival strategy, not a flaw[14,17]. In practice, this means supporting autistic adults by preserving what they need for emotional safety - whether that’s a favorite object, a quiet routine, or control over their space - and critically, never forcing change under the guise of help. As advocates say, society should adapt to autistic ways of being, ensuring each person can thrive without having to “act normal”.
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Dipl.-Ing. Thomas Spielauer, Wien (webcomplains389t48957@tspi.at)
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