Parents often have questions when they see toddlers handling regular knives at the dinner table.
“No, no, it’s okay,” Maribel Cedillo assures her visitors. “They know how to use them.” Maribel’s kitchen is clipped straight from Better Homes & Gardens: natural light bounces off granite counters and honey- and cherry-stained cabinets. Maribel considers herself lucky to have this space. The kitchen is the beating heart of her home.
Consider the archetype of the Mexican abuela, and you'll see where Maribel gets it. Food is often the center of the day in Mexico, and mothers are most concerned that their kids are well-fed and healthy. “To this day, my mom doesn’t sit down until she feels that everyone has eaten enough,” Maribel says. “She is still making the rounds before she can relax and eat with us.”
From her mother, Maribel inherited a focus on food, a nurturing instinct, curiosity, and a love of learning. “Growing up, it was a little annoying because my mom thought I was too thin,” Maribel says. “She was always a little bit more worried about me than the rest of my siblings, who had a normal weight.”
This early preoccupation with nutrition ultimately shaped Maribel’s professional focus—one that addresses both a deeply personal concern and a pressing cultural challenge. Nearly one in five Utahns identifies as Hispanic or Latino, a rapidly growing population that experiences diabetes at nearly twice the rate of non-Hispanic Whites. Yet evidence suggests that current prevention models consistently underperform for this community. According to Maribel, standard diabetes prevention programs are effective for only about 16% of Hispanic participants. “What we have isn’t good enough,” she says. “It’s not reaching the people who need it most.”
So, why do standard interventions often miss the mark? The key issue is the gap between the needs of the people the programs are meant to serve and those who design them. “Hispanic women are 79% overweight or obese,” Maribel states. “It’s staggering.” Yet, many Hispanic mothers receive advice that doesn’t resonate with their realities, such as the common recommendation to “walk the dog after dinner.” For them, that suggestion is often unrealistic: “For many, that’s when they’re heading out for their second job,” Maribel notes. Maribel had perfected her own recipe for good health, but she wanted to figure out how to scale it beyond her own kitchen.
Her solution is Paso a Paso, a culturally adapted pilot program where she goes into community kitchens like St. James Episcopal Church in Midvale to give healthy cooking workshops and empower participants to follow a healthier lifestyle. “We get feedback on how we are changing their lives,” she says. “They tell us they never thought that eating healthy was delicious. Healthy eating is normal in my home, but it’s not normal for everyone.”
That same kitchen logic—shared responsibility, trust, and capability—now shapes her research. The transformation isn’t just nutritional: it’s emotional. “Every time I’m there, I feel I made a difference,” Maribel says. “We open up ears and hearts.”
Growing up, Maribel's children (now 16 and 19) got full access to all the kitchen tools: the KitchenAid mixer, the blender, and other expensive equipment included. “It's not my kitchen,” she says. “It’s our kitchen.” For Maribel, empowering her children in the kitchen isn’t just radical—it’s efficient.
Maribel is a genuine optimizer, bridge builder, and creative collaborator. (If you ask her kids, she’s also passionate, strong, caring, courageous, and someone who enjoys being different.) Together, these characteristics drive Maribel to empower the people around her, in community kitchens and at work.
As senior research manager in the U’s Department of Internal Medicine, she works hard to help projects bridge the gap between academic research and real-world health solutions. Her role spans everything from writing grants and managing clinical trials to mentoring staff and collaborating to shape the division research agenda.
One of her greatest contributions is a digital resource hub: a comprehensive website she created that gives her colleagues the tools they need to navigate everything from data management to manuscript submission. “I don’t do the job for you,” she explains, a line familiar to her children. “I'm going to give you the resources because you’re super smart and you don’t need me.”
The result? A measurable uptick in published research and successful grant funding—exactly the kind of systematic improvement Maribel seeks. Like the community cooking events and her own kitchen, the key is creating a space that lets users explore their curiosities freely. “You prepare the environment to set them up for success,” she says. “And then the environment shapes behavior.”
It helps that Maribel loves what she does. If thoughts of work ever keep her awake at night, they’re usually positive—like how to make sure everyone has the right tools and ingredients to succeed.
“I’m very good at scanning what’s going on and putting the dots together,” Maribel says. She’s trained to develop business skills that are rarely found in research. Armed with certificates in implementation science and a new Doctor of Medical Science with a concentration in health care business management, now Maribel guides the room as Dr. Cedillo. “I know I'm going to make a difference,” she says. “I'm already seeing it.”
Her pilot program is active, and retention is at 100%. Maribel’s done her part by shaping the environment and laying out the tools. With practice, the community will know how to use them. The staying power of the program means it’s more than just professional success for Maribel—these health care interventions are built to be sustainable in the real world, designed exactly for the people who most need them.
“I have been writing about this for years,” she says. “This is my moment! I am ready to meet my moment and help bridge the gap.”
By Andrew Dash Gillman; Photos by Niki Chan Wylie
