Carrying the Weight and Letting Go: My Thoughts on Malibu Rising
There’s something so cathartic about reading a story that hits you right in the heart and makes you feel seen, and that’s exactly what Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid did for me.
It’s a story about family in all its messy, complicated glory—the way it can build you up or break you down, the wounds it leaves, and the ways it can still heal you in the end.
One of the most powerful moments in the book for me was Mick’s confrontation with his kids, especially Nina. That scene was raw, authentic, and full of the kind of messy emotions that families don’t always talk about but feel deeply. When Nina finally snapped and let her father have it, I felt every ounce of her anger, pain, and exhaustion. It wasn’t just about Mick; it was about all the ways her life had been shaped by being abandoned and by having to carry the weight of everyone else’s needs. I could feel her struggle to reconcile her own worth with what her parents failed to give her, and it felt so painfully real.
Taylor Jenkins Reid’s writing in that scene was just brilliant—it wasn’t a clean, shiny resolution with a happy bow on top, but that’s what made it so meaningful. It was the closure everyone needed to move forward. It reminded me that healing isn’t about fixing everything; it’s about acknowledging the broken pieces and deciding how to carry them—or whether to leave them behind.
Speaking of leaving things behind, one of my favorite parts of the book was the symbolism of the fire. Mick’s actions—burning down the house, albeit accidentally—ended up being the catalyst for Nina to finally let go. It’s wild to think that the destruction of the home represented the best gift he could ever give her. It freed her from being the caregiver, the protector, the one who sacrificed everything to hold the family together. And when her siblings encouraged her to leave for Portugal, it broke me. It was like the ultimate act of love—giving her permission to live her own life after she had spent so long taking care of everyone else.
And then there’s this quote:
“It was as if June had given her a box—as if every parent gives their children a box—full of the things they carried. …Her job was to sort through the box. To decide what to keep, and to put the rest down.”
This absolutely wrecked me in the best way. That idea of choosing what to keep and what to leave behind felt so deeply personal. It’s such a powerful metaphor for life, especially when you’ve been shaped by the weight of family dynamics that weren’t always healthy. It’s like Reid handed me a little piece of wisdom wrapped in gorgeous prose, and I’ll carry that with me forever.
At its core, Malibu Rising is about the power of family to define you—but also the strength it takes to redefine yourself. It’s about forgiveness (or lack of it), bonds that endure, and learning that you don’t have to carry every piece of your family’s past with you. For me, this book wasn’t just a story; it was a form of therapy. It gave me permission to feel the hurt, the love, and everything in between. It’s a reminder that, yes, family can make or break you, but it’s ultimately up to you to decide which pieces to keep.
