Yes, a heretic. It's a moniker I picked up in seminary actually.  My name way back when, was Missy Harrison, and I was a troublemaker, a thief, a liar, a rebellious young woman, and a generally messed up puppy.
I had run away from home to attend seminary in North Dakota.  Not actually ran,  but briskly walked in the direction of what I thought was freedom for the first time. Boy, was I wrong.
I pickled up the name Messy Heresy rather quickly after I started asking questions of my professors that they either didn't want to answer, or couldn't, but I was used to it. My parents, friends, pastors, and elders had not been able to quell my incessant queries since I was small.
I remember watching one of the moon landings or something space related when I was about 6 or 8. Talking about space,  science,  and  life on other planets to my Dad.  He mentioned there was no way there was life on other planets. If there was life in other planets,  Jesus would have to go to each and every planet, die, and ressurect, all over again. I looked up at him and said,  'why not? you said God could do anything.' I was bruskly told to go to my room and quit asking stupid questions.
I was raised as a child of the "children are seen and not heard" generation. You didn't ask questions you followed blindly in your parents path. I was also born a female in a very traditional white middle class male dominated world. I wanted to run around topless, go hunting, drive the tractor, be president. Those were only things boys could do in my house.
Missy Harrison was truly fucked from the first time she asked a thoughtful question, and has taken years to embrace Messy Heresy, but now there's solice in the name. I am proud of my questions, my choices, my identity. My inquisitive nature led me to this point,  and I'm finally ready.