A Prisoner...of sorts

When I was born, my parents wrapped me in a blanket and carried me home. When I began gaining use of my legs, they installed gates and fences so I wouldn't fall and hurt myself. When I sprouted wings, they roped one foot to the sturdiest pillar in the house. Now that my wings are full-formed and poised to take flight, I find myself shackled, bound tight in chains of iron - my right arm to my family's trust which stays my hand when impulse overthrows reasoning, and my left arm to my own mind, wherein which the ingrained fear of the outside world keeps me from venturing a foot outdoors.