Podbit · Call Her Daddy
Lisa Marie Presley never talked about her grief after Elvis died — only about Elvis himself. Because her grief was so public, she kept her feelings private, and Riley believes she didn't truly begin to process it until her late 40s or 50s.
Where this was said
At 44:00 · chapter starts 39:33
Riley describes the shift as gradual but total. Lisa Marie had always been the family leader — the strong center around whom everything organized. When she fell into opioid addiction, that changed, and Riley stepped into a caretaker role she hadn't chosen. [1] — Riley Keough "In her mid-20s, Riley's mother Lisa Marie Presley fell into opioid addiction, and the mother-daughter dynamic quietly but entirely flipped …" 39:33 The strangest part, Riley says, is that her mother didn't realize it was happening. And you can't say 'I don't want to be your parent' — the whole dynamic is unsaid. Alex relates, describing her own therapy work around a similar dynamic with her mother and how difficult it is even in relatively mild forms. Riley and Alex agree that this is a nearly universal experience — the parent who used to be the person you called with problems gradually becomes someone who calls you with theirs — but it doesn't make it less disorienting when it happens. Riley says her response to all of it, as a parent now herself, is a firm intention: she will not make her children feel that her happiness is their responsibility.
Riley says her mother Lisa Marie Presley fell into opioid addiction during Riley's mid-20s, which fundamentally shifted the mother-daughter dynamic so that Riley became the caretaker.
In her mid-20s, Riley's mother Lisa Marie Presley fell into opioid addiction, and the mother-daughter dynamic quietly but entirely flipped — Riley became the caretaker. The strangest part: Lisa Marie didn't notice it was happening.
Self-help fails because people are sold one universal cure by the hyper-responders who had a transformative result from it. The real problem is context: every method works for the right person at the right time, which is almost never you just because the author says so.
Spencer Greenberg was once so socially anxious his heart pounded just approaching a stranger. His therapist gave him homework: go to a bar alone, talk to 5 strangers. Starting with asking for the time, he worked up to asking men for hugs — and his anxiety fell dramatically in 6 months.
A person who flies regularly but obsessively checks weather forecasts before every flight is not doing exposure therapy — they're teaching their brain that flying is only safe with the ritual. Safety behaviors prevent the brain from ever learning that the feared thing is actually fine.
The worry-time technique assigns all worries to one scheduled slot (e.g. 5 PM). Every time a worry surfaces, you write it down and ban yourself from engaging with it until that time. When 5 PM arrives, most worries feel trivial and the act of batch-worrying exposes how little it actually accomplishes.
In a randomized study of 20 habit techniques, 'habit reflection' stood out: recall a past habit you successfully built, write down what helped you succeed, then apply those same strategies to your new habit. It works because it's self-adapting — it uses whatever worked for YOU.
The tiny habits technique — always having a minimal version of your habit you can do when life gets in the way — keeps the mental machinery of habit formation from breaking. Paradoxically, people given a tiny-habit fallback option were MORE successful at the full habit, not less.
Fears and worries act like playground bullies — they want to ambush you. But when you deliberately seek them out and choose the time of engagement, they lose their power. The volitional act of starting the fight on your own terms is one of CBT's most underappreciated insights.
Most downtime defaults are things you regret immediately after — phone scrolling, binge TV. 'Glad you did it' activities meet the same need for rest but leave you feeling like you spent your time well. The switch from a bad screen to a documentary, a book, or a walk costs almost no extra effort but compounds into identity over time.
You rarely control your first reactive thought. But you can train your second thought — the response to the trigger — by asking whether your initial reaction is the most helpful one and replacing it with something equally true but more constructive. Over time, that second thought becomes automatic.
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