I checked my bank account on Friday morning like I always do. Coffee in one hand, phone in the other, the ritual of seeing what survived the week. And there it was: a $62 deposit from the Colorado Department of Revenue. TABOR refund. Last year it was $800. The year before, $1,200. This year? Sixty-two dollars. I stared at the number for a solid minute, convinced it was a typo.
It wasn't a typo. Colorado's Taxpayer's Bill of Rights refunds collapsed this year because the state hit the revenue cap and then immediately spent the excess on education and transportation projects. Which, fine, those things need money. But the refund that Colorado voters have come to expect β the little annual bonus that makes the high cost of living slightly more bearable β basically evaporated.
I help families budget for a living. I see their spreadsheets. I know what $800 means to a Denver family. It's a month of groceries. It's two car payments. It's the difference between "we can handle this" and "we need to put it on the credit card." And now it's $62. That's a nice dinner. One dinner. For a family of four, that's pizza and soda with no tip.
The state says the money went to "critical priorities." Schools got $400 million. Roads got $200 million. I'm not against schools or roads. I have kids. I drive on I-25. But the way TABOR was sold to voters was as a direct refund mechanism. You pay too much, you get it back. That was the deal. And now the deal has been quietly renegotiated without anyone asking the people who actually paid the taxes.
I ran the numbers for a typical Denver family I work with. Two kids, $78,000 household income, renting a $2,400 apartment. Their budget was already stretched thin. The $800 TABOR refund was their "catch-up" money β the thing that paid off the credit card balance from Christmas, or covered the car repair they'd been putting off. Without it, they're carrying that debt into the next year. At 24% APR. The $62 refund doesn't even cover the interest for one month.
I'm not saying the state should have sent the refunds. Maybe schools do need that money more than families need $800. But I am saying that when you change a system that people have built their budgets around, you need to be honest about it. You need to say "hey, that thing you were counting on? It's gone. Plan accordingly." Instead, the announcement came in March, after most people had already filed their taxes and made their summer plans. Too late to adjust. Too late to save. Just... surprise.
So now I'm telling my clients the same thing: build your budget without TABOR. Pretend it doesn't exist. If it comes back next year, great, it's a bonus. If it doesn't, you're not caught off guard. It's the financial equivalent of wearing a seatbelt. You hope you never need it, but you're glad it's there when the state decides to renegotiate your tax refund without asking.
I keep thinking about the family I mentioned β the one with two kids and $78,000 income. I saw them last week. The dad looked tired. More tired than usual. "We had to put the car repair on the credit card," he said. "The transmission went. $2,800. We were going to use the TABOR refund for it. Now we're carrying a balance." I didn't have anything helpful to say. I just listened. Because sometimes the numbers speak for themselves, and what they say is: this system is broken for the people who need it most.
The state will probably announce next year's TABOR refund in October. If history is any guide, it'll be somewhere between "nothing" and "barely worth the direct deposit notification." And families will adjust. They always do. They'll skip the vacation. They'll delay the dentist. They'll eat more rice and beans. They'll make it work because they have no other choice. But "making it work" is not the same as "thriving." And Colorado used to be a place where families could do more than just survive.
So here's my advice, for what it's worth: look at your budget today. Remove the TABOR line entirely. See what breaks. Fix what you can. And if the refund comes back, treat it like found money β pay down debt, build your emergency fund, do something that makes next year easier. Because counting on the state to send you a check is starting to feel like counting on the weather. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes it doesn't. And you need an umbrella either way.
β Marcus
