Ten days ago, I got a call from IRD about an Application for Relief I’d submitted online. Within thirty seconds, I could tell the tone was going to be adversarial and accusatory. Since I tend to fall apart in those kinds of situations, I recorded it — so I could digest what was said later, when I wasn’t flustered and feeling under attack.
For probably the first two-thirds of the call, I was made to feel deeply guilty about my inability to pay a tax bill.
How, I was asked, could I justify spending $400 at the dentist — when they could see from an old bank statement (over a year out of date) that I clearly had the means?
Why did my 2024 bank statement show a balance of $1000?
All I could say was that 65th birthday is next month and I’ll be trying to live on the old-age pension (or whatever we’re calling it now). My Income Protection insurance ends next month, and I can’t just go out and get a job — I have multiple sclerosis. I asked if I could I go to prison? Well, at least I’d have a roof over my head and regular meals. I made it clear that I’m not hiding assets. I’ve never won Lotto. I live simply. If IRD wants to send someone round to dig up the garden or look under the mattress, they’re welcome — they won’t find anything. To be fair, the IRD staff member eventually softened and pointed me towards some limited support options and we ended the conversation reasonably amicably.
After listening back, I realised what I needed wasn’t another call — it was a spreadsheet. Of course it was. I’ve built my life, career, and probably several dinner party conversations around spreadsheets. Why stop now?
I dug up the 2024 bank statement in question. The supposed $400 dental splurge? It was actually $339 on 7 February. At that point, I didn’t even know I could apply for Government dental help — up to $1000 a year. I was in pain, I didn’t know my options, and I paid what I could manage. That appointment turned out to be just the beginning of a bigger issue. Six months later I was in agony and I mentioned to a friend that I didn’t know what on earth I was going to do. She told me I was probably eligible for support. No one had ever said that before. In the end, I got the $1000 emergency dental grant (the maximum), but the problem still wasn’t fixed. So I applied again and received a $1400 interest-free loan through MSD.
And the $1000 in my account? Yes — sometimes I do have that much. My Income Protection insurance is paid monthly. Should I spend it all at once, or is it okay to budget it?
Then I worked out what the Government would’ve paid me if I hadn’t had self-funded Income Protection. From my diagnosis in 2016 until my 65th birthday, I could have claimed about $277,114.62 — including the Supported Living Payment, Disability Allowance, Accommodation Supplement, and the (seasonal) Winter Energy Payment. That’s based on today’s rates, so it’s a rough estimate — but still a useful ballpark.
The taxable income my accountant submitted is about 20% below the minimum wage, based on a 40-hour week. So we’re not talking about someone raking it in and dodging tax.
One thing that jumped out when I replayed the call was the repeated mention of the Tax Integrity System. I may be wrong, but to me that sounds like a scripted line from a broader Government initiative. I suspect staff are being directed to approach all cases — regardless of context — with the same rigid stance. In the past two years, IRD’s approach felt more understanding. It seemed they recognised that I was saving the Government more than I was costing it. I suspect the clue is probably in the dates because this time felt different — robotic, almost performative. Like nuance had been replaced by policy talking points.
Eventually, the general tone of the call did ease. The advisor suggested I might’ve qualified for a Disability Allowance or Accommodation Supplement. I may even be able to get a Temporary Additional Support payment to help cover my tax bill — though that is MSD’s area of responsibility, not IRD’s. Because obviously, shifting money from one government pot to another (with a mountain of form-filling in between) is far more efficient than just applying a little common sense. By that point, I was well over my spreadsheet and browser tabs and decided I’d write an article instead.
That article — Feeling Punished for Doing the Right Thing — was published on Stuff today. It explores what happens when you try to take personal responsibility, only to find the system seems set up to penalise you for it. It’s based on my experience navigating income protection insurance, progressive illness, and a shifting political landscape that often feels wildly disconnected from real lives.
👉 Feeling Punished for Doing the Right Thing – Stuff
I know I’m not the only one feeling this way. There’s growing pressure on seniors, disabled people, and anyone who’s tried to stay off state support but now finds themselves boxed in by bureaucracy.
If you’re trying to do the right thing, and it feels like the system is punishing you for it, you’re not imagining it .. and you’re not alone.