A formal grievance on behalf of single, childless, high-earning women everywhere.
Let me just say it plainly: the IRS hates single people with no kids and no husband. And I will not be taking questions at this time.
Every year, without fail, tax season arrives like an uninvited guest who also somehow has a bill for me. No warning. No flowers. Just a number that makes me want to lie face down on the floor and stay there until April 16th.
And the kicker? I am doing everything right. I work hard. I earn well. I save in my 401K, my IRA, my FSA, my HYSA. I am out here being a functional adult in a system that was clearly not designed with me in mind. Because every single deduction, every break, every little financial exhale the tax code offers… requires something I do not have.
A husband.
A baby.
Preferably both.
Married filing jointly? Not me. Child tax credit? Absolutely not. Dependent care FSA that actually shelters a meaningful chunk of income? Ma’am. I am the dependent. I have only myself and my coins and apparently the IRS sees that as a personal invitation to take more of both.
And can we talk about bonuses for a second. Please. Because nobody prepares you for what happens when you get a bonus or RSUs as a single woman with no write-offs and no financial shelter to absorb the hit. The government takes a gorgeous, insulting percentage before you even get to celebrate. You worked for that. You earned that. And the reward is watching a significant portion of it disappear into a system that will use it to give someone else a child tax credit.
I am happy for the children. Truly. But I would also like a break.
The W2 life is its own special kind of trapped too. If you own a business, suddenly the whole tax code opens up like a buffet. Write off your home office, car, laptop, lunch, your feelings probably, too. But as a W2 employee? The options are limited. You can contribute to your retirement accounts, which is great until you need liquid cash and realize all your money is in a vault you cannot touch until you’re 59 and 1/2. Cute!
So here is where we stand. I make good money. The government knows this. They collect accordingly and enthusiastically. I have no dependents to deduct, no spouse to split the burden with, no business to shelter income behind. I am, by every measure the tax code uses, completely alone out here.
And the system looks at that and says: perfect, charge her more.
I’m not saying don’t get married or don’t have kids. Do what you want, this is a safe space. What I am saying is that the financial architecture of this country was built around a family structure that fewer and fewer of us actually have. And the women who chose themselves, who build careers, who earn real money without a co-signer on their life, are quietly getting taxed for the audacity.
And I know I am not alone in this because in June 2025, a lawyer named Amanda Reynolds filed an actual, real, federal lawsuit against the IRS in the Eastern District of New York. On behalf of herself and her golden retriever, Finnegan Mary Reynolds, who is also named as a plaintiff. I need you to understand that the dog is a named plaintiff.
Amanda’s argument? Finnegan has no independent income, lives exclusively with her, and costs her over $5,000 a year in food, vet bills, daycare, grooming and boarding. By every meaningful measure the IRS uses to define a dependent, Finnegan qualifies. Except for the part about being human. Which Amanda argues should not automatically disqualify her.
And honestly? Amanda is not wrong.
Because I would like to introduce the court to Mr. Sutton. My dog. My dependent. A young pup who has never held a job, contributes nothing financially to this household, eats exclusively premium treats, naps for the majority of the day, and still somehow costs me a small fortune every single year. Mr. Sutton is entirely reliant on me for survival. He lives here. He has no income. He is, by every definition except the one the IRS refuses to update, my dependent.
The IRS’s response to Amanda’s lawsuit was to file a motion to dismiss. The judge has already signaled he’s skeptical it will survive. So we are out here, Amanda and I and every other single person with a dog who is basically raising a child that will never grow up or get a job, and the government is like: that’s personal. Not deductible. Good luck.
A guard dog? Deductible. A service animal? Deductible. My Mr. Sutton who guards my heart and provides emotional support on a daily basis? Property. Sir.
Anyway. I got a financial advisor. We are working on it. But I want it on the record that I tried to do everything right and the IRS still looked at my single, childless, hardworking life and said: actually, give us a little more. Those BITCHES.
Disrespectfully yours,
Lo
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